


Redemption

by innerslytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disabled Character, Disabled Remus Lupin, Good Severus Snape, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Just Add Kittens, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Physical Disability, Post-Canon Fix-It, Wolfsbane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 23:16:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 52,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerslytherin/pseuds/innerslytherin
Summary: After Voldemort's defeat, Remus Lupin--crippled in his last battle--and Severus Snape--pardoned but a pariah--manage to forge a connection, despite the expectations of the world around them.





	1. Reconciliation

**Author's Note:**

> This is set post-war. I began writing this after HBP but before DH, and there was no actual relationship except friendship between Tonks and Remus.
> 
> I left this incomplete around 50k words, but I am going to attempt to finish it, because this is the WIP I've always regretted abandoning when I drifted away from the HP fandom.

“I brought you chocolate.”

Remus blinks and lifts his gaze from the shiny gold-wrapped packet to stare at Severus. “Er, thank you, Severus.”

It’s obvious the werewolf doesn’t understand. Severus makes an annoyed sound and leans forward. “I heard you liked it.”

“I’m a Dark Arts expert; of course I like chocolate. It’s a very useful recovery aid.” To Severus’ chagrin, the werewolf looks amused.

For a moment he considers throwing the chocolate down on the blue-and-white striped counterpane, but it has not been so very long since he was pardoned and released from Azkaban, and since Remus Lupin is one of the few people who will actually speak to him instead of spitting in his face, he reconsiders. Instead he summons truly heroic patience (which is the only way he gets through most encounters with Lupin, despite the lack of spittle) and sits gingerly on the edge of the hospital bed, because there is nowhere else to sit. He looks at the werewolf in confusion. “I was under the impression that you’re a…mmm, chocoholic.”

Lupin gives him a damned cheeky grin and Severus grits his teeth. “Well, no, actually, but I do appreciate the sentiment, Severus.”

“It—isn’t—sentiment,” Severus grinds out, wishing he could crush the last bit of humanity left in him (the bit that gets lonely enough for him to _want_ to spend time with a werewolf who tried to eat him).

Lupin cocks his head, his eyes bright. “Oh, so charity, then? Pity? Those I can do without.” His voice is sharp, surprising Severus.

“Think who you’re talking to, Lupin,” Severus snaps.

Lupin tenses, and for a moment Severus fears he has crossed the line into unforgivable vitriol. But then the other man chuckles. Without meaning to, Severus relaxes slightly. He hopes desperately that he is imagining the flash of triumph in Lupin’s golden eyes, but he knows he can’t be so lucky.

“Very good.” Lupin’s voice is calm, satisfied. “I shan’t give you any pity or charity if you promise to do me the same courtesy.”

Severus rears back, wanting to bristle, but then he realizes that Lupin has given him precisely the gift he has been wanting—the assurance that this, whatever it is, is unmotivated by pity. Lupin _chooses_ this. Whatever it is.

After a long silence, Severus asks quietly, “How long will you be…in hospital?”

Lupin shrugs. “No idea,” he says cheerfully. “Takes some time for a cursed leg to heal properly, apparently. They tell me I’ll walk again, though I’ll never be able to dash out of the way of a charging lethifold.”

Severus snorts, then realizes he has just laughed at the fact that Lupin is crippled, and feels a flash of—irritation? It certainly isn’t remorse.

Lupin gives an exasperated sigh. “If I’m not allowed to joke about the fact that my nerves were damaged beyond repair, I don’t know what I am allowed,” he snaps. “It was _meant_ to be funny, Severus.”

Feeling chastised and not liking it one bit, Severus folds his arms and glares. “I don’t _do_ funny, Lupin.”

After a moment, Remus grins, and Severus relaxes. How revolting, that he has come to _like_ the sight of that grin.

“I wanted to come to the hearings, you know,” Remus says after a long and vague (though not uncomfortable) silence. “I had to settle for accounts from Harry and Ron, with Hermione tempering their…ah, harsher opinions.”

Severus has no illusions. Just because Hermione Granger-Weasley doesn’t spit at him when she sees him doesn’t mean she likes him. It just means that she is excruciatingly _fair_ in all her dealings. He supposes it is better than out-and-out charity, so he has stopped twitting her about her appalling judgment in marrying a Weasley. “I hope you didn’t want to come out of some misplaced sense of duty,” he says.

Remus chuckles. “I think we’re beyond that, aren’t we?” he asks, mystifyingly. Severus has no idea how to answer. He has no idea even what he is being asked.

Lupin’s fingers close over his hand, and he jumps slightly, startled. After a moment he realizes that he is still holding the chocolate bar, and he feels the faint burn of a blush along his cheekbones. He releases the chocolate bar. “Sorry.”

Remus’ smile wipes out the unpleasantries of the day, the way the mediwitch called him a traitor, the wide berth the other Honeydukes’ customers had given him, the evil dreams he suffers every night.

“Why are you apologizing?” Remus asks, and his voice is warm. “After all, you did bring me chocolate.”

* * *

**Prompt:** 5 - Chocolate


	2. Rehabilitation

Severus has no idea why he is returning to St Mungo’s. He hates hospitals, hates going out in public, hates that bloody dummy that admits visitors, and hates lime green. Nevertheless he has made his way, dressed as a _Muggle_ for Merlin’s sake, to the abandoned storefront that serves as the hospital’s main visitor entrance. It takes a moment to force himself to say, “I’m here to see Remus Lupin,” and once he does, he would swear the dummy is smirking at him.

He makes his way upstairs, to the new ward that had been added three years previously, the Albus Dumbledore Ward for Combat Injuries. Dumbledore’s portrait always beams benevolently at him when he passes it. Severus averts his eyes.

Remus isn’t sitting up in bed this time. He is lying on his side, with his back to the door. His body seems hunched in on itself, and the only movement is his breathing—the sound of which nevertheless tells Severus that the other man is still awake.

_Why do I keep doing this to myself?_ Severus thinks, then he sighs and goes in.

He had expected Lupin to hear him coming—the man had damnably good hearing—and had prepared himself for insufferable cheerfulness. It takes him a moment, then, to realize Remus is still simply lying on his side, staring at nothing.

Severus frowns. “I brought a book of crosswords this time. Is that better or worse than chocolate?”

Remus stirs finally, his eyes focusing and lifting to Severus’ gaze. “Oh, hullo, Severus,” he says, his voice quiet and tired.

Severus counts back rapidly. The full moon had been—yes, four days ago. Lupin ought to be recovered by now. Though the injury might be affecting that. “Are you ill?” he asks.

“Ill?” Remus looks puzzled by the question. “Oh, I’m just tired. It wasn’t a very good day.”

It occurs to Severus that this is the first time he has ever heard Remus Lupin make such an admission. “Tell me,” he finds himself saying. The he swears at himself mentally, because the last thing he wants is someone whinging on about his awful life.

But Remus sighs and hunches one shoulder in an odd-looking shrug that pulls the blankets off one bare foot. “You don’t want to hear about how many steps I didn’t take today, or how much my leg hurts.”

Perversely, this makes Severus _want_ to know. Only because Lupin won’t tell him, of course. “How do you know what I want, Lupin?” he asks, his voice slightly harsher than he means for it to be.

Remus gives another shrug and says, “I was supposed to walk across the room. Instead I fell off the bed and wrenched my leg, and I want to bite someone.”

Severus has an inappropriate thought about biting and banishes it in embarrassment. “Are they using levitation charms to take some of your weight off the leg?” Remus makes a noise that he takes for assent. “And are they using pain-killing potions?”

“I can’t take any. They do something unpleasant to my stomach.”

“Allergic to poppies, are you?” Severus muses. “Or perhaps something else you’re taking…Have you ever taken pain potions before?”

Remus’ face shows the first emotion since Severus walked in. Of course it’s annoyance, but that’s better than despondency. “My body reshapes itself twice a month and you ask if I ever take pain potions?”

“No need to get shirty with me,” Severus replies, though his voice is too amiable to match the words. “You never asked me for one when you were taking the Wolfsbane.”

Remus gives him a Look. “You didn’t exactly encourage me to ask you for anything,” he replies. “I checked with Poppy, who told me pain potions and Wolfsbane wouldn’t interact, and supplied me with everything I needed.”

Severus feels a small pang of—well, it isn’t remorse, whatever it is. Severus has only bothered with remorse twice in his life, and both times when it was absolutely merited. “You were a werewolf teaching in the school. A werewolf who had already declared himself my enemy. Why would I want to give you anything?”

Remus’ expression changes to one of astonishment. “Enemy? Severus, we were never enemies, were we?” It’s strange, how…lost? Imploring? the werewolf can appear.

“What would you have called it?” Severus asks, because he is curious how Lupin felt about him, though he would never admit it.

Remus tilts his head to one side, looking at Severus. “Colleagues, former schoolmates…I don’t know. I suppose we weren’t really anything to each other.” Strangely, this pronouncement seems to make him sad.

Severus shrugs. “It was no secret I didn’t want you teaching there,” he says after the silence grows tiresome. “A full-grown werewolf of dubious loyalty, I thought.” He pauses. “I would have killed you and Black both.”

“I know,” Remus says, but his voice is warm, not angry as it should be.

Severus frowns. “What?”

“I was glad,” Remus confirms. “I wasn’t sure myself what I would do, if it came down to it. Albus was too…trusting of me.”

Severus hesitates. “Many people say he was too trusting of me, as well,” he says softly.

“No,” Remus says. “His trust in you was completely merited.”

Severus feels warmed, but he glares at Lupin. “How can you say that? I killed him.”

Remus gazes levelly back at him. “You had no choice.”

“That’s no excuse!” Severus snaps.

“It was what he wanted,” Remus says, his voice calm. “That is enough for me.”

“I don’t understand you.” Severus stands up, looking down at the werewolf, who is still curled on his side, bright golden eyes watching him. “I killed your best friend! I killed Dumbledore! Why do you still trust me?”

A pained expression crosses Remus’ face. “Because I know you are worthy of my trust,” he whispers quietly.

In the face of such unquestioning friendship, Severus flees.

* * *

**Prompt:** 88 - St Mungo’s


	3. Recovery

He tells himself that he doesn’t have to do this, that he has nothing to prove. When that fails, he tells himself it’s merely professional pride that he is still the greatest Potions Master in all England. When that, too, fails to ring true, he snarls and tells his reflection that he would be remiss if he allowed an injured werewolf to remain untreated and possibly go feral because of it. “You believe whatever you want, dear,” the mirror replies. He hexes it into several pieces (he’s already had forty years of bad luck; what are seven more?) and Apparates to St Mungo’s. The dummy recognizes him and lets him in right away. It saves him the humiliation of saying aloud that he’s here to see Remus, but it also makes him think he’s been here too often.

Remus is sitting in a chair, staring out the window. Severus wonders if he walked there by himself or had to be lifted, and if it embarrassed him to be lifted. He wonders if Remus hates asking for help as much as Severus does. Severus strides in without bothering to knock, crosses the room, and sets a flask on the table in front of him.

Remus looks up at him, smiling. “Good afternoon, Severus,” he says quietly.

“Feeling better?” Severus asks gruffly. He hovers, wondering if he is allowed to sit.

Remus shrugs. “The Healer says that periods of depression are inevitable, if embarrassing,” he says, adjusting the blanket draped over his lap. Severus finds himself intensely curious about the extent of the injury.

“I think it’s safe to say I understand,” Severus says dryly.

“Yes, you’ve been through quite a few life changes yourself, haven’t you,” Remus remarks thoughtfully. “Will you join me? They serve tea in a few minutes.” He still hasn’t asked about the flask between them on the table.

“Thank you,” Severus says, and sits, awkwardly. He rests his hands on the carved wooden arms of the chair until he realizes he has a white-knuckle grip on them. Then he folds them in his lap, clasping them together.

“How have you been?” Remus asks politely, golden eyes fixed on Severus’ face.

Severus shrugs. He finally settles on “Bored,” for a reply.

Remus laughs quietly. “Oh, is that why I’ve had the pleasure of your company three weeks in a row now?” he asks.

Severus scowls and he begins to stand, but Remus’ face instantly becomes contrite and he reaches a hand out--though he does not touch Severus, because Severus does not allow people to touch him, and Remus of all people surely has learned this. All the same, Severus understands the gesture, and allows himself to sink back into the chair again.

“I didn’t mean it as a complaint, or a mockery,” Remus says. He speaks slowly, as if choosing his words with care. His gaze is bright on Severus’ face. “I’m glad you’ve come to visit me. I appreciate that you’ve brought things to alleviate the boredom. I’ve worked several of the puzzles, by the way.” He seems tense, though Severus doesn’t really blame him. They have never exactly been friends. It must be difficult to talk to Severus like this. Then Lupin stops talking and Severus realizes he must reply.

“Yes…” he says, equally slowly. He glances down at his clasped hands. “I...remembered that letters from Minerva were the only thing I had to look forward to, while I was in Azkaban.” He closes his eyes briefly. The prison is no longer guarded by Dementors, but a grey stone keep in the northernmost reaches of Scotland is quite dreary enough, and the aura of despair has never left it.

“You were there for how long?” Remus asks quietly.

Four months, ten days, and sixteen hours. Severus shrugs. “How long have you been here?” he asks.

Remus tilts his head back and studies the ceiling. “I’ve been here for nearly two months,” he replies, his voice low. “But that was several weeks after the last battle, or perhaps a bit longer.” He lowers his chin and studies Severus, his head cocked slightly to the side. Severus wonders if he looks any better sideways. “Funny how time stretches, isn’t it?” Remus asks.

“Not if you’re in prison,” Severus says, his voice hollow.

“I would have written to you,” Remus says quietly. He is not looking at Severus. “If I thought it would be welcome.”

Severus is silent. He knows that he has never been welcoming towards Remus. He doesn’t know why Remus has been so welcoming towards him, wonders how he even worked up the courage to come visit Remus in hospital. He supposes it is because he knew, before coming here, that Remus was crippled. He’d heard that from Hermione Granger-Weasley long before he came here.

“Did I make you angry?” Remus asks, his voice even quieter. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Severus doesn’t know what to say--doesn't know if he _can_ say anything. The very idea that Remus Lupin wouldn’t want to upset him is ludicrous. Remus should hate him. Remus should want to see him dead, or at the very least in Azkaban, for all the sins he has committed. It is strangely easy, now, for Severus to overlook all the times Remus allowed his friends to be cruel to him, the way Remus humiliated him in front of the students, the way Remus made Severus want him...

Severus shakes his head.

A young woman in a red-and-white striped robe bustles in with a tea tray. “Oh, you have a visitor, Mr Lupin!” she says. “How nice.”

“Thank you, Izamar,” he says pleasantly as she sets the tray on the table. It brings their attention to the flask. “What is this, Severus?” he asks, his voice oddly gentle.

Severus waits until Izamar has gone before answering. He has to force himself not to mumble. “You said you were having trouble with the pain potions they were giving you.” He keeps his gaze on the flask, unable to meet Remus’ eyes. “I did some investigating and decided that the likeliest culprit is the potions they’ve been using to rebuild your muscle. This pain potion shouldn’t interact badly with it.”

He startles when Remus’ hand enters his field of vision and touches his arm. But he looks up, and is astonished at the warmth of Remus’ gaze. Severus begins to relax.

“I can’t tell you grateful I am,” Remus said. “It’s the loveliest thing anyone has done for me lately.”

Severus feels himself turning scarlet, and wonders if he ought to yell. Lupin shouldn’t thank him for things. Lupin shouldn’t feel grateful. He ought to take it as his due. It takes several heartbeats for Severus to decide that shouting at Lupin won’t help the situation. It’s still tempting.

He shrugs. “It wasn’t any trouble,” he mutters, and looks out the window. The view cannot be real. The sun is shining over a green, tree-lined patio.

Remus chuckles. “I’m sure you wouldn’t admit to going to any trouble over me, even if you had,” he says. “How do I take it?”

Severus gives one last shrug, feeling as if he is settling himself back in his skin. “The flask should last you at least a week, preferably two,” he says. He draws a small vial out of his pocket. “Pour yourself this much when the pain is moderate. Fill the vial twice if the pain is excruciating.”

Remus nods and takes a sip of tea. “Could…ah, that is, would you be willing to pour me a vial now?” he asks, his tone odd.

Severus inspects him, wondering how bad the pain actually is. “You should lie down before taking it,” he cautions. “I don’t know how it will react with your system.”

The other man grimaces and sighs. “If I do that, I’ll have to ask you to help me to the bed,” he says quietly. “We’ve never been good at asking or accepting help, have we, Severus?”

“I suppose not. So don’t ask.” Severus stands, feeling an odd tightness in his chest. He extends one arm, which Remus grasps to pull himself to his feet. Then, with the werewolf leaning heavily on him, Severus makes his way to the bed. Severus doesn’t overlook Remus’ clenched jaw and flared nostrils, the heavy intake of breath, or the inaudible sigh of relief he gives when he is settled back into bed.

Severus pours a vial full of potion and watches as Remus tilts his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, his eyelids fluttering slightly closed. Severus takes the vial back and refills it, holding it out. Remus looks at him, his gaze half questioning and half defensive.

“I have lived far too intimately with pain to be deceived,” Severus says quietly, and Remus accepts the second vial.

This time, when he hands it back, their fingers brush, and Severus sucks in a small breath. He is pathetically grateful even for the small contact they have had, and it angers him. But he takes another deep breath and nods. “Don’t stint on the potion,” he says. “It has addictive qualities, but that’s not something that should worry you. There are other potions to ease the withdrawal, later.”

Remus sighs something that sounds like “thank you” but is so faint Severus has to lean close to hear. The werewolf’s golden eyes flutter closed, then open again. “You’re kinder than I deserve,” he says, too clearly. Then they close again.

Severus allows himself the small luxury of brushing the other man’s graying hair back from his forehead. “I’ll see you next week,” he whispers.

* * *

**Prompt:** 82 - Potions


	4. Reply

Severus is surprised when a tawny owl taps on his window in the middle of the day. The _Daily Prophet_ has already arrived, and he gets no other mail. With a shrug, he pays the owl and then studies the envelope, which is addressed in large, somewhat shaky letters. It is, he supposes, the sort of writing he would expect from Hagrid. To his surprise, it is from Lupin. Fascinated anew with it, he leaves what he'd been doing (washing the dishes from lunch) and sits at the table with a cup of tea.

 

_Hello, Severus._

_I'm sure it is a surprise to receive a letter from me. But I thought about the letters I never wrote to you while you were in Azkaban, and I realized I have a lot of catching up to do. It has been another bad day, with more setbacks, and I suppose writing this letter will take all my concentration for some time, which is what I need._

_I don't suppose you know, because I haven't told anyone, but the curse that Mulciber threw at me did more than just further the damage Greyback had done to my leg. It was a modified form of a curse to stiffen and degrade all of the joints. As a result it takes a great deal of effort to control some of the finer motor skills. Writing this letter tires me, but I remember how you helped me on my last bad day. I find that writing to you, imagining you as you read this, helps me almost as well._

_Why, do you suppose, is it easier for me to be open with you on paper? Perhaps because your caustic remarks and sour glares are easier to be fond of when they aren't present. Perhaps because if you crumple the letter and refuse to read it, I won't know until you don't arrive next Tuesday._

_It _has_ always been Tuesday, did you realize? I was looking forward to your visit this week. I made a special effort to be out of bed. Of course, I hadn't counted on how much it would hurt to sit up that long. I've only ever sat in my chair for about an hour at a time._

_There, now you know how badly I have been disabled. I'm not sure why I'm telling you, only that I feel you ought to know. Perhaps you'll understand now why I was so grateful for the pain potion. Yes, it's nearly always present, sometimes so bad I want to stop breathing, sometimes weak enough that I can smile at everyone and pretend it doesn't hurt at all._

_Harry visits when he can, but of course his Auror training and planning for the wedding keep him busy. Hermione is my most frequent visitor, as she has been doing some research here at St Mungo’s. Minerva has also been to see me a few times._

_I’m afraid I have very little worth telling, really, and very little strength left to go on writing. But thank you for occupying my time this morning, for giving me something to concentrate on other than the wreck that is my body. I do hope I see you this Tuesday, and that I haven’t put you off me entirely._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus Lupin_

 

The surname is crooked, as if it were tacked on later. Severus wonders if Remus had signed only his first name, then found it awkward.

He sits for a long time, debating. He does not like going out in public, nor does he like disrupting the quiet, slow routine that is his life now. But he is bored. Minerva is the only person he sees even on a semi-regular basis, and he hasn’t seen her for three weeks. Lupin is the only person to have actively sought his company in years, if he is truthful.

And Severus has no occupation, no passion to pursue, no reason, really, to exist—and that is all he has been doing since his release from Azkaban—existing. Lupin could benefit from Severus’ skill at potions, could perhaps use the companionship of someone who understands pain.

If Severus can bring himself to offer all that. If Lupin can lower himself to accept it. If they can withstand whatever conflict will inevitably arise, if Lupin’s friends discover that Severus is hanging about.

Severus finds he wants to risk it. He may be making the biggest mistake of his life, but there is only one way to find out. Lupin, he reflects, will be a very different sort of adventure.

 

The look of surprise on Lupin’s face brings Severus great satisfaction; it is, after all, early Saturday morning. But he seems pleased to set aside his book.

“Severus!” He smiles, but doesn’t ask the question he obviously wants to ask. Severus is glad. He thinks it will be easier to adjust to this new…this, if Lupin is still somewhat worried about scaring him off. Severus doesn’t want to be scared off—is willing, in fact, to very stubbornly _refuse_ to be scared off—but he isn’t at all prepared for the sort of intimacy that Lupin seems to want from a friendship.

He sets a bag on Lupin’s bedside table. It isn’t a heavy bag, but it is rather large. Lupin looks wide-eyed from Severus to the bag and back.

“Well? Open it, Remus,” Severus orders, his tone impatient. (And he has chosen quite deliberately to use his given name, to see if Remus will leave off his surname next time.)

Remus gazes at him for a moment more, then gives him a brilliant smile and takes the bag. Watching, Severus is smug, though his expression doesn’t change as Lupin pulls out two long, thin boxes. The werewolf looks a swift question at Severus, then opens the first box to expose a long black quill. Severus had spent a rather enjoyable hour at the stationer’s, choosing exactly the right tools.

“Unbreakable, Ever-Sharp Quill,” Remus reads aloud. “Severus—“

But Severus shakes his head and gestures to the other box. It contains a beautiful russet-coloured Quick Quotes Quill, with a very expensive charm—one Severus pored over for several minutes before choosing. Remus squints at the box and reads, “After a two-week training period, the quill picks up personal style of a single user, engaged at will.” Remus stares openly at him.

Severus gives a negligent shrug. “The Unbreakable when you require the occupation of writing in your own hand. The Quick Quotes when you’re tired but want to write.”

The dumbfounded look on Lupin’s face makes Severus want to laugh. “You got these for me,” Lupin says.

Severus’ mouth twitches. “Brilliant surmise. Ten points to Gryffindor and all that.”

Remus looks apologetically at him. “It wasn’t a very good letter,” he says in a low voice.

“It is the first letter I’ve had in years,” Severus replies. He turns and heads for the door. “You have a lot of catching up to do.”

* * *

**Prompt:** 10 - Quills


	5. Rediscovery

Oddly, Severus finds that he prefers letters written in Remus’ own hand, though it is large and shaky and difficult to read. Those letters are always far more informative than the letters Remus writes with the Quick Quotes Quill, because he uses that only on days when he is tired from visits from his friends, and on Wednesdays, which are his most therapy-intense days. The dictated letters are chatty and full of gossipy, unofficial news from the Wizarding community: Harry and Ginny’s wedding planning, Hermione’s research, Minerva’s lament that Severus refuses to return to Hogwarts now that he has been pardoned—Severus snorts upon reading that last. She is probably relieved that he won’t return.

But the dictated letters never show where Remus had gripped the quill too tightly, either because of emotion or because his joints were acting up. They never show where he’d paused to think about his words, letting ink drip onto the parchment. They never show Remus’ true self, and that is what Severus finds himself caring about.

He doesn’t usually write back—he wouldn’t want Lupin to think he has nothing better to do with his time, even if it is true. He never wrote letters home when he was at school, and he’d had no one to write to after leaving school. He ought to be too old to have a pen friend, but he finds himself eagerly anticipating the owl post now.

He has been away for several days, because being friendly with Remus is taxing, and because he and Remus quarreled the last time he was there. Remus had dropped a paper and refused to let Severus pick it up for him. While Severus can understand the sentiment—could understand it even at the time—he damns the werewolf’s stubbornness, easily overlooking the fact that Severus is just as stubborn. And now his pride won’t let him return.

Remus has continued writing letters, which makes Severus pathetically relieved at times, and irrationally angry at others. Does the damned werewolf not even realize Severus is angry at him? And yet he can’t bring himself to write back, neither angry words nor apologetic ones-- _never_ apologetic. But he reads the letters, and folds them carefully, smoothing the parchment against his leg.

On Tuesday he receives a letter in Remus’ own hand, describing some of his impressions upon his first arrival at Hogwarts. He’d been anxious, excited, and awed. He’d wanted to meet Severus, but had been frightened by the way Bellatrix Black had hovered around Severus. He’d seen the Thestrals from the very beginning, because in seeing Fenrir Greyback, he had seen Death.

Severus feels that deserves a fair trade, so he sends a note back, telling how he’d seen the Thestrals, too, because his father had killed his pet kitten. “He was just like that,” he writes, not to excuse Tobias, but because Tobias is worth no more attention than that. “I paid the cat more attention than I did him, and he didn’t like it.”

That was the first time Severus had done magic; he’d turned his father’s beer into vinegar. Of course it had earned him a beating, but his mother had been so proud that her son was a wizard, and she had sneaked in later to ease his pain and give him a biscuit. When Severus looks down at the page and sees he has written this, he almost throws the letter in the fire. But prompted by a completely incomprehensible urge, he sends it anyway.

 

Wednesday is different. He doesn’t receive a letter, so he is out of sorts all day. He knows tomorrow’s letter will be chatty and annoying, because Remus will be exhausted tonight. When he finally sits on his sofa after dinner with a novel (a Russian novel, because he finally has enough time to read them, these days), he is irritable enough that the crackle of the fire makes him twitch and huff angrily.

He has nearly decided to give it all up as a bad job and stomp off to bed when something taps at his window. He jumps, swears, then hurries over to snatch a letter from the very affronted owl.

_Severus, I’m sorry to trouble you, but could you come here? Remus_

It makes his heart jump in his chest, though he has absolutely no idea whether it is relief or fear. Why would Remus be summoning him now? He cannot imagine, but he Apparates at once, using the Diagon Alley entrance to the hospital since it is so late and he is unlikely to run into anyone likely to call him names.

He doesn’t pause at the front desk, he strides past the Healer’s station, and he ignores the annoyed attendant who tries to stop him. Of course visiting hours are long since over, but Lupin has asked him to come, and Severus knows he wouldn’t ask unless it was very important. So he comes.

“Remus?” he is asking as he strides in the room. And then his stomach clenches in alarm and he moves forward more quickly.

Remus is hunched over, his face twisted with pain, on the floor halfway between the window and the bed. He is kneeling in spilled potions and shattered glass, and Severus understands what has happened. He crouches next to Remus and glares at the door, using a nonverbal spell to shut and lock it, because Remus would hate to have an audience. He wonders how much pride it cost Remus to owl him for help. Then he wonders why he is so determined to protect Remus’ dignity.

“How can I help you?” Severus asks, using a spell to clear away the mess.

Remus shakes his head, and Severus reaches out and touches his shoulder. “You have to tell me,” he says quietly. But it’s obvious that Remus can’t, for some reason, and Severus realizes that Remus has already asked for help, simply by inviting him here. So Severus puts an arm around his shoulders and says, “Shall I lift you?”

Remus nods, and finally he looks up at Severus. His golden eyes are tormented. He opens his mouth but can’t do anything but pant.

“Please tell me this isn’t lycanthropic trouble,” Severus says. “I can’t help with that, you know.” He stands, lifting Remus with him by dint of a levitation charm. “Bed?”

“Yes,” Remus grunts. At Severus’ look of alarm, he makes an impatient noise and shakes his head. Then his arm jerks up and he grips Severus’ chin.

Severus nearly pulls back, out of his grip, but at the last second he manages to control himself. Remus stares, unblinking, into his eyes, and finally Severus thinks he understands. “You want me to use Legilimency on you?”

Remus’ grip tightens and he nods, and Severus doesn’t hesitate.

He sees flashes of the day, how difficult it has been, how very much pain Remus has been in—and Severus thinks that his own body would have died from the shock of the pain by now—and how many times he has fallen. It traumatized his system, and his joints seized badly while crossing to look out the window. Severus wonders why Remus wanted to look out the window, but feels Lupin clutch, panicky, after that memory, so he lets it go.

He settles Remus onto the bed. “I’ll be right back,” he says. Remus clutches at his arm, so he repeats it. “I’ll be right back.” Then he Apparates home, collects several potions, and returns.

A potion to relax Remus’ body, then one to ease the pain. An ointment to heal the bruises starting on his knees and hip, pushing the pyjama trousers out of the way and spreading the ointment gingerly with two fingertips. And then a calming draught, because Remus’ pulse is still erratic after that. Severus almost wishes he’d brought a calming draught for himself. He lowers himself into the chair next to Remus’ bed. “You are an idiot,” he proclaims flatly.

Remus is propped up on three pillows, but his eyes are mostly closed. “Thank you, Severus,” he murmurs.

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t in bed yet,” Severus mutters, by which he means, I’m glad you asked me for help. He wonders if he will ever be able to say the things he means.

“What were you doing?” The question is softly spoken, perhaps so Severus will be able to ignore it, or so Remus will be able to deny it. Severus wonders if _Remus_ will ever be able to say the things _he_ means.

“I was reading.” To his astonishment, Severus sees the novel lying on the floor near the door. He must have brought it with him when he Apparated the first time. It probably made for an incongruous sight, an apparently mad wizard striding through the ward with _Crime and Punishment_ in his hand. He summons the book to him and turns it over in his hands, feeling the weight of it.

“I thought I was dying,” Remus says finally. His voice is very clear, and Severus fears what words it will shape.

“Ridiculous,” Severus scoffs. “You’ll outlive us all, most likely, for all that people think you’re frail.”

Remus opens amber eyes and they move unerringly to Severus’ face. “I thought we’d moved past wanting to cause each other pain,” he says, and the corner of his mouth curves up slightly. “I don’t _want_ to outlive you.”

Severus’ heart gives a funny lurch, and then he decides Remus meant that collectively. “As if you’d fall apart without us,” he says, turning his face downward. His hair falls in a curtain, hiding his expression from Remus, for which he is grateful.

Why does he feel so awkward? He is forty-two years old. He ought to be able to ask for what he wants. He ought to _know_ what he wants. But he has no idea. No one has ever confused him the way Remus Lupin does now.

“I might,” Remus says quietly. Severus glances up. Remus is watching him, his gaze intent.

“Let’s not test it, then,” Severus replies, finally.

Remus smiles.

* * *

**Prompt:** 36 – Magical creatures


	6. Receiving

Some days after Severus found Remus kneeling in the midst of broken potion bottles, the owl post arrives with a box. Severus frowns. He has ordered no potion components recently. There is nothing he is expecting. He studies it for a moment; it is plain, unmarked, with no return post. It is about eight inches by eight, and there are several mild charms on it.

Then the box moves.

He has his wand out in a flash, trained on the box. It moves again, with the sound of claws on cardboard. He thinks quickly; none of the Death Eaters still free should have too strong a grudge against him—the important ones were all killed or rounded up after the war. A former student? Then the box makes another, more distinctive noise. Severus goes still.

“Oh, Lupin, you can’t have been such a fool.”

But the box mews again, and Severus realizes that yes, Lupin is just that sort of fool. Dreading what he will find, he opens the box.

A tiny, fuzzy black head pokes out of the box, and bright golden eyes examine him curiously. Severus scowls at it. “The werewolf is mad.”

The kitten mews again and makes a valiant attempt at escaping the box. After watching for a few minutes, face impassive, Severus lifts it out of the box and places it on his work table. Its purr is loud and instantaneous, but it mews pathetically when he sets it down.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Severus tells it. It trots over and sinks its teeth into his hands.

“Ouch! Little beast.” He eyes it with more respect.

It sits and licks prissily at a paw.

Severus snorts. “Where did he find you?” he asks.

The cat gazes back at him, unconcerned. Severus snorts again and looks in the box, which contains a soft blanket, a box marked “Care package”, a folded piece of parchment, and a stuffed lamb. He stares at that last in pure dumbfoundment for several seconds, until ten pricks of fire pierce the skin of his left arm.

“Damnation!” he exclaims, and detaches the kitten from where it is attempting to climb his sleeve. “You are going straight back,” he says, holding it in front of his face and glaring at it. It licks his nose.

Bloody hell.

 

The care package turns out to have two dishes, a litter box, a bag of sand, a supply of food, treats, and a small instruction pamphlet on “Caring for your new darling”. Severus suspects it was written by Molly Weasley or one of her ilk. After reading the first paragraph he bins it.

He turns instead to the folded parchment, which proves to be a note from Remus. This he reads with more interest.

_Severus,_

_I have suddenly found myself the owner of a cat. Or perhaps he owns me; I’m never certain how these things work. In any case, I am obviously unable to care for him myself at the moment, but something about him made me think you might like him. Besides, you said you once had a kitten, so presumably you aren’t allergic to cats. I would greatly appreciate it if you would do me the favour of giving him a place to stay until I’m released from ~~this torture facility~~ hospital. He’s still in need of a name, as well._

_Thank you in advance. I hope it won’t be too much of an imposition._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus_

_P.S. Watch out, he bites._

Severus gives a snort of amused annoyance and glances at the animal. It is patting at a heavy, liquid-filled flask. He suspects it will be an imposition, but finds that he can’t bring himself to tell Remus. Glancing back at the letter, he is oddly cheered by the fact that it is written in Remus’ own hand, and the printing is much more even, the signature large and shaky, but much closer to the man’s old signature, which Severus had seen—and hated—on so many school documents. He wonders how soon Remus will be able to leave St Mungo’s. He wonders where the man will go when he does.

“If you’re going to live here, there will be some ground rules,” he tells the kitten seriously. “I will not have any nonsense. There will be no playing with or eating of potions ingredients, no breaking of flasks and tubes, no climbing in cauldrons, and no sleeping in my bed. I expect you to keep the rodent population down. And you will cease biting at once.”

The kitten looks at him and yawns.

Severus has a feeling he is in for a great deal of nonsense.

* * *

**Prompt:** 42 - Nonsense


	7. Repartee

Severus has always been sarcastic. He gets it from his mother. His father was usually too drunk or too angry to think of effective sarcasm, but Eileen, her face screwed up with anger, her black eyes glinting, always crackled with power. Of course, she rarely got angry with Tobias. Usually her anger was directed at Severus, because Severus had made Tobias angry. Again.

He uses sarcasm as a weapon, but also as a shield. Other people keep their distance from sarcastic people, so they won’t be close enough to be injured. This means that those people are also not close enough to do injury. Sarcasm keeps him safe.

Sarcasm, oddly enough, has never protected him from Remus Lupin. Nothing has ever protected him from Remus Lupin.

Oddly enough, Severus is beginning to believe he may not need it.

 

Severus stalks into Remus’ hospital room and slaps some parchment on the table. “Your cat destroyed my copy of _Potions Most Painful_.”

Remus is doing some odd sort of exercise, standing on one foot and bending, then straightening, his knee. He gives Severus a bemused look. “Good morning to you, too,” he says. He straightens a final time and sinks into a chair, wiping sweat off his forehead. He looks exhausted.

“Are you supposed to be doing that with no one around?” Severus asks. He folds his arms across his chest and tries to look imposing.

“Well, but you’re here,” Remus points out, smiling.

Severus frowns. “That was a deliberate misdirection. Just what I would expect from a Gryffindor—complete lack of subtlety.”

Remus looks amused. “You know, it’s spectacularly unkind of you to point out my lack of skill.”

“I point it out so you’ll practice and improve,” Severus retorts.

Remus’ answering smile is suspiciously innocent. “I’m sorry, you were saying something about your book.”

Severus feels a flash of surprise as he realizes Remus _has_ successfully diverted his anger. No, had. He frowns again. “Wolfsbane consumed half of my book.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Wolfsbane?”

Severus sits down, scowl deepening. “He’s certainly the bane of _my_ existence,” he mutters.

Remus laughs, a true, unfettered laugh, and Severus’ heart gives a small jump at the sound. He watches the werewolf, liking the small lines at the corners of his eyes, liking that he is responsible for them, even if they are somewhat at his expense. Then Remus lowers his chin to look back at him. Severus feels his face heat suddenly and he scowls and reaches for the teapot.

“Don’t,” Remus says softly, and for an absurd moment Severus thinks Remus wants the same thing he does—for them to laugh together. Then Remus lifts his wand. “That tea’s been there for three hours. Wait.” He scrunches his face in concentration and makes a carefully smooth swish with his wand as he casts the refilling charm.

Severus pours himself a cup and takes a sip. After a moment he gives a nod and Remus’ anxious expression relaxes. It angers Severus to see the werewolf this pleased at such a simple spell.

“I’ve only just regained enough control to do some of the trickier motions,” Remus explains.

Severus pours him a cup of tea.

“I _am_ sorry about your book,” Remus adds. “Of course I’ll replace it.”

Severus finds he no longer really minds about the book, but he scowls so as not to give himself away. “It took me two years hunting through used book lots at estate auctions before I found that,” he says with a sniff. “I doubt you could.”

Remus’ golden gaze turns challenging. “Never question my determination, Severus,” he says in a low voice. Severus cannot tell if the note in it is a promise or a threat. A shiver runs through him.

“I wouldn’t,” he replies dryly. “Not the man who hunted down and killed Fenrir Greyback.” He holds Remus’ gaze. He was in Azkaban when it happened, of course, but he knows. They all know, all the Death Eaters still living. They are afraid of Remus Lupin. Severus is the only one who understands that Remus had reasons to hunt down Greyback that had nothing to do with the war.

Just as Severus had had reasons to hunt down Rodolphus Lestrange.

Lost in his memories, he doesn’t realize at first that Remus has gone still. Severus scans his face and doesn’t like what he sees. “Remus—“

“Don’t, please,” the werewolf says, his quiet, hoarse voice tight.

Severus blinks. “Remus, it’s all right.”

“No,” Remus says. “It isn’t.”

And Severus understands. He doesn’t agree, not in Remus’ case, but he understands. Merlin knows he has felt it enough himself. He sighs and takes a sip of his tea. He wants to change the topic, think of something to put Remus at ease. But he’s never been good at conversation that wasn’t intended to wound or misdirect. Finally he says, “Would you like a game of chess?”

Remus glances at the board that has been set up, awaiting a game, for so long that it is dusty. An odd expression crosses his face. “Thank you, no,” he says after a long moment. “I only keep it set up because it gives Harry something to look at besides me.”

“Oh, good,” Severus says without meaning to. “I don’t care for chess; I’ve spent far too many years as a pawn to not feel for them.”

Remus cocks his head. “A pawn?” he repeats. “Do you really think so, Severus?”

Severus frowns and looks down at his hands, curled around his teacup. His knuckles are white, and he wonders when he tensed up. “What did you mean, it gives Potter something to look at?”

Remus’ eyes shutter, and Severus expects another rebuff. He’s surprised when the other man speaks. “He feels guilty.” He takes a long drink of his tea and when he lowers the cup to the table, his hand is shaking and the cup rattles against the saucer. “He looks at me and sees a failure. He thinks it’s his fault that I’m in here. That I’m crippled.”

“Don’t say that,” Severus says, the words flying from his mouth before he can stop himself. He stares at Remus, horrified that he has spoken in such an unguarded way.

Remus frowns. “Say what? That I’m crippled? There’s no use beating around the bush. I _am_ crippled.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your mind!” Severus snaps. “As long as you have that, you’re no more crippled than I am.” The instant he says it he realizes he has made a mistake, because he _is_ crippled, isn’t he? Socially and emotionally, if not mentally or magically.

Remus stares at him for a very long time, and though Severus feels his face heating, he doesn’t look away. If he looks away, Remus will realize that he is bluffing. But a strange thing happens. Instead of calling his bluff, instead of shouting at him, Remus…accepts it. His expression relaxes, his golden eyes warm, and the corners of his mouth curve ever-so-slightly upwards. He looks at Severus this way for a long time, until the heat fades from Severus’ face and he finds himself unable to speak, but unable to look away.

At last Remus nods. “Very well,” he says. “But I’m still going to replace your book.”

* * *

**Prompt:** 51 - Books


	8. Relapse

_Dear Severus,_

_I’m terribly sorry that the Healers wouldn’t let you in to see me yesterday. I’m certain it was an inconvenience to you to have come here and then be denied. I am told you were rather cross with the woman who spoke with you. I hope you didn’t blame her too much; the fault is entirely mine._

_Hippocrates Smethwyk, the Healer in charge of my case, says I’ve overexerted myself. He seems to be generally pleased with my progress, but he says that it’s possible, in some circumstances, that being too aggressive with physical therapy can lead to relapses. I have been making an effort to get to the point where they will release me, and apparently have been, ah, overenthusiastic._

_I confess, I was rather ill-tempered last night myself. I try not to be ill-tempered with the staff, since they’ve been very kind to me. Not to mention I must always consider how my behaviour reflects on werewolves in general. I must strive to be an example. It’s easy to forget sometimes that the Wizarding world—or at least Wizarding Britain—is constantly watching me. For the first time I understand how Harry has always felt. And the first thing I did after becoming the first Magical Beast to be awarded the OM1 was hunt down and murder someone._

_I feel I owe you an explanation, after my churlish behaviour last week. I know you were trying to make me feel better. Of course it does very little good for anyone else to ignore my actions, to call me a hero for ridding the world of Greyback. I can never forgive myself. I can’t afford to._

_Do you know how I found Greyback? Once I escaped from the prison where the Lestranges had left me (and that was a blow to my pride, honestly, that they didn’t even think me worth killing), I went back to the camp. Fenrir wasn’t there, but his son was. Ulfin, just turned fifteen, was one of my supporters, actually. Ulfin was a gentle boy before I ever came to the pack, but once I did, he soaked in my ideas about peaceful protests and gradual change. I used him, Severus. I lured Greyback to me by threatening Ulfin. I knew Greyback’s weakness was his love for his children, and I forced him to come back because he feared I would harm Ulfin._

_There, now you know what a hypocrite I am. I preach peaceful protest and changing things from within the Ministry, and yet I hunted down Greyback’s child so I could take revenge on the person who made me what I am._

_How strange. I’m having to repeat myself to get the quill to write what I want. I’ll cut this letter short._

_Remus_

.:.

__~~Lupin,~~  
 ~~Remus,~~  
 ~~Dea  
Get over yourself~~ ~~You seem~~

_~~Oh **HELL**~~ _

 

_Remus,_

_From your letter one would get the impression you are the only one in this war who ever killed. Forgive my bluntness. Get over yourself._

_You dare speak to me of killing? You dare speak to me of killing? You dare speak to me of hypocrisy? **ME** , who killed the only person whom I have ever loved? ~~You dare to feel guilty when~~_

_Sod you, Lupin. I can’t believe I ever_

 

With a loud snap, Severus’ quill gives up the ghost. He swears and tosses it down on the desk, then stares at it, watching it drip red ink like blood onto the cracked wooden surface. He thinks of everything he would like to say to Lupin, thinks of everything he is too afraid to say, and everything he is too proud to say.

Why has Lupin chosen _him_ as his confessor? What does the werewolf think he will say? Does he expect horror? Pity? Absolution? Severus can provide none of these.

After a time, he opens the desk, removes a fresh piece of parchment, a new quill, and begins to write. The ink, charmed to reflect his mood, comes out black now. After several minutes he draws out another sheet of parchment, and it requires a third to finish the letter. When he is done, he sits for a moment, head bowed. Then, without rereading the letter, he folds it, seals it, and attaches it to the leg of the now thoroughly confused owl.

“Take this to him,” he says quietly. “Don’t wait for a response.”

He doesn’t expect one.

.:.

_Dear Remus,_

_I confess that I am uncertain why you are writing this to me. At first I thought perhaps you were seeking my forgiveness somehow. But I am hardly the person to offer you forgiveness. Not after the things I’ve done. Perhaps you thought to horrify me by your actions? But surely you must realize that nothing you have done or could do would be enough to horrify me. Failing that, perhaps you seek pity…but I cannot believe that of you. You are too proud, too dignified—believe me, I am intimately acquainted with the motivations to avoid pity._

_Then perhaps, though I can scarcely believe it, perhaps you are attempting to make me hate you. That seems highly unlikely to me, simply because you spent so many years wanting to be liked. Trying even to be friends with me, before it was required of you._

_You confuse me, Remus. You have confused me for years. I confess that is part of why I did all I could to antagonize you the year we taught together. I could look at you and_ know _why you were doing something, and yet never_ understand _. You may have noticed I do not like things I cannot understand._

_All the same, I feel as though I should trade you a truth for a truth. You have told me how Fenrir died. Now allow me to tell you why Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange are dead._

_I discovered, shortly before the end of the war, that Fenrir had convinced ~~the~~ Voldemort that you were a threat. He believed you would be able to draw some of the pack away from his authority, leaving the werewolf ranks too thin to complete the sentry lines around Riddle Manor. Voldemort knew of our past acquaintance and asked me if you were truly a threat. I had to tell him truthfully that I felt you were._

_(There, you see? It is my fault that you were taken at all.)_

_Voldemort gave me leave to deal with you myself; it was a reward I requested in exchange for faithful service. I ordered the Lestrange brothers to capture you and keep you, unharmed, until I came for you. I confess, my intent was to murder another werewolf while transformed, to freeze him as a werewolf, and pass him off as you. I don’t know why I wanted to save your life. Perhaps it was simply that we were never friends, but you were still the last tie I had to any part of my past that I remembered with fondness. I couldn’t bear to watch yet another good man die because of my actions._

_I have failed too many people, Remus. I couldn’t stand the thought of failing you._

_I saw you once, while you were their captive. I was forced to take care, lest I betray undue interest in you--something which would surely rouse Voldemort’s interest and suspicion. But I pretended I wanted to take my vengeance on you for the petty insults and harms of our school days, and such was my persona among the Death Eaters that none of my fellows questioned me—nor did my lord. I am certain you did not realize I was there. I’m not certain how much you remember of your captivity._

_They had you bound in silver chains, blindfolded. I was…furious. I had said unharmed-- **undamaged** was the word, if you must know—and you were presented to me like **that**. I punished the Lestranges, then sent them away. I could do little to ease your hurts without giving myself away. It was almost worse than if I had not saved you, I thought. We were barely days away from the big push, the final effort that was to destroy the combined forces of the Ministry and the Order. Of course I knew that, if all went as planned, Potter would be able to destroy Voldemort. But I had no illusions about the likelihood of my surviving the battle._

_When, against all odds, I did survive, I went back to find you, only to discover that you were gone. I didn’t know what had happened, whether you had escaped or been murdered in retaliation for Voldemort’s downfall. Bellatrix, I knew, had been killed in the battle. Rabastan was injured, and I was quite certain Rodolphus would be with him—they were always devoted to one another. I hunted them down (it was ridiculously easy, really) and attempted to discover what they had done to you. They swore they had left you, but I was angry, I didn’t believe them. They were dead before I finally admitted to myself that they might be telling the truth._

_Now you see that I am not above hypocrisy, either. I don’t know why you wrote to me as you did, and yet I am still responding in kind. Are we to become each other’s confessors? Am I looking for absolution? It can never be mine. Am I trying to make you hate me? I don’t know. I hope not._

_Strange, to think I am still capable of hope._

_Severus_

.:.  
The owl wakes him early in the morning, and it has the quietly resigned air of a bird that has been pecking at the window for quite some time. He sits up, feeling hungover though he didn’t drink last night. But there were dreams. There are always dreams, but writing the letter to Remus has dredged up the worst of them, the dreams of silver-scarred skin. He remembers the fine gauge of chain wrapped around the werewolf’s hands, wrists, feet, and ankles, and considers it a miracle that Remus was able to walk after the chains were removed—until he went after Greyback and Mulciber.

He rubs a hand over his face, tucks his hair behind his ears—cut short before he was thrown into Azkaban, and now growing out raggedly--and takes the parchment. It is a short letter, brief and to the point.

_Severus,_

_Please come to me this afternoon. And if you would be so kind, bring me a pair of slippers. My feet get cold sometimes._

_Remus_

Severus stares at it for a long time, wondering why he is so afraid.

* * *

Prompt: 78 - Feet


	9. Requisite

Severus’ heart is pounding as he approaches the Albus Dumbledore Ward for Combat Injuries. He keeps blinking and swallowing, trying to push the lump down out of his throat. Remus has sent for him, and he feels worse than the many long days he spent before the Wizengamot, torn between wanting to be free and just wishing they would execute him and have done with it.

What if Remus has decided he can no longer associate with him? What if Remus is angry with him? What if Remus hates him?

Why did he ask Severus to bring him slippers?

Severus pauses outside the entrance to the ward; he has almost decided to turn around and leave. There cannot be any good in store for him this afternoon. He might as well save himself the humiliation.

“Professor Snape?” He stiffens and freezes his features into hard, inexpressive lines. It is a young healer whose short black hair, pallid complexion, and pinched features look appalling with the lime-green robes. Severus studies him for a moment as the boy actually approaches him with an eager look.

“Smethwyk,” Severus says, finally remembering.

“Yes, sir! Hippocrates Smethwyk. I’m the Healer in charge of Mr Lupin’s case.” Dear Merlin, the boy seems ridiculously happy to be speaking with him.

_If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it,_ Severus thinks. “Yes.”

“Sir, I just wanted to thank you for all that you’ve done for Mr Lupin. I know he had something of a setback this week, but I shan’t take you to task for it, considering all the improvement you’ve been responsible for.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Severus says stiffly.

“Why, sir, surely you see that it is all down to you that he is doing so well!” Smethwyk’s face is open and delighted. “He’d been here nearly two months before you came, but he’d not really worked at his recovery until you arrived. Truth be told it was a relief when you showed up, because we were having more and more trouble fighting off his depression.”

“His friends,” Severus protests. He is badly off-balance suddenly, and he wants to hurt Smethwyk, though he remembers that the boy achieved an O on both his OWL and his NEWT in Potions.

“They visit him, of course, but he’s no longer really a part of their lives,” Smethwyk says. “But you, sir—well, he’s been in much better shape since you started visiting. And buying him that kitten—it was a lovely thing you did. He was ever so pleased.”

Severus feels as though the earth is trembling under his feet. “He laughed,” he says quietly.

“The last time you were here? Yes,” Smethwyk agrees. “You’re the only one who makes him laugh like that. Sir, you make him happy.”

Severus turns away blindly. If only he had known this all sooner. If only he had had some inkling…he could have kept things from Remus, could have resisted telling him everything…And now he has thrown it away, because he felt he should be honest. Then something occurs to him.

“What do you mean, buying him a kitten? I never bought him a kitten!”

Smethwyk looks confused. “Oh, I thought…well, I must have been mistaken, that’s all.”

Severus scowls. “He told me someone bought it for him. I’m having to take care of the blasted thing.”

Smethwyk’s worried look vanishes. “Oh, that’s right,” he says, relieved. “Someone else bought it for him, but he sent it to you.”

Severus stalks away, wondering why he is still moving towards Remus’ room instead of fleeing.

 

 

He pauses again outside Remus’ door, wondering if he has the courage to go in. He desperately wants to, but…

“Come in, Severus,” calls Remus’ voice, and Severus remembers that the werewolf possesses excellent hearing. He moves forward, musing that Remus can probably smell him, too.

Remus is sitting up in bed, his face full of colour and not quite as thin as it was the first time Severus came here. He wonders if it is true, if he really has helped advance Remus’ recovery. He stands before Remus, waiting for him to speak, wondering what judgment Remus will pass.

“Come sit down,” Remus urges with no hint of anger. “Did you bring me some slippers?”

Silently, Severus holds out the bag he has been carrying. They are burgundy and have a warming charm on them. Remus thanks him when he takes the bag, but sets it on the table next to his bed without opening it. “I’ve made a withdrawal from my vault. I can repay you for this.”

Severus makes a small gesture of negation. It isn’t necessary. He likes giving things to Remus. He likes watching the astonishment bloom into happiness on Remus’ face when he opens gifts. He likes knowing he has made Remus happy.

Remus now does not seem very happy, though. He makes a small noise and says, “Severus, will you speak to me?”

“I’m sorry,” Severus says, which is the best substitute he can think of for _Please don’t throw me out._

“Don’t apologize to me,” Remus says. “We are past the need for apologies, aren’t we? For the past, at least. We have to let go of the past if there’s going to be any sort of future.”

Severus wonders if there is hope for a future for them. He stares at Remus for a long instant, then says, “Yes. Yes, you’re right.”

Remus’ bright golden gaze is fixed on his face. “Severus…do you think we have a future ahead of us?” The uncertainty, the hesitation, the _hope_ in his voice all surprise Severus. But he gazes back at Remus and nods slowly.

“I hope so,” he says, his voice very low. “I…perhaps I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” Remus protests. “It’s good to know some things.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to come back,” Severus admits.

Remus’ eyes ignite with something he doesn’t recognize at once. “I will always want you to come back,” he says.

Severus cannot suppress the tiny smile that brings to his lips. He tries to look away and can’t.

“Severus, come sit by me. We ought to talk.”

Severus obeys. He hopes they won’t talk about their letters. It is easier, in one sense, to share of himself in a letter, where he knows there will be no immediate response. He is able to put a layer of distance between them, something to protect himself. He thinks Remus understands this.

Remus smiles at him and turns to face him. “How is Wolfsbane?”

Severus blinks. “He refuses to give up the ridiculous habit of sleeping on my pillow. And he ate the edges of an article I’m writing, but fortunately the substance was undamaged.”

Remus laughs. “Do you like him?”

“Yes, damn it,” Severus replies. “That was bloody Slytherin of you.”

“I thought,” Remus agrees complacently. “Of course I’ll take him once I’m released from here. I’ve been working hard at it.”

“Yes, that’s what Smethwyk tells me,” Severus says. He gives Remus a sidelong look. “I may have to have more frequent conversations with Smethwyk. He is very informative.”

Amusingly, Remus looks somewhat nervous. “I can’t imagine what he could tell you that I couldn’t,” he says casually.

Severus’ tiny smile grows a bit bigger. “Plenty of things. You probably wouldn’t think to tell me most of them, anyway. People who know little about potions rarely think of everything.” Which was true, though misleading.

Remus shifts a bit. “How are you, Severus?” he says. It is a blatant change of topic, and Severus debates for a moment whether or not to allow it.

“Are you afraid of something Smethwyk will tell me?” he asks finally. He’s watching Remus closely, so he sees the spread of pink along Remus’ cheekbones.

“Perhaps,” Remus allows. “I suppose there are some things I would rather tell you myself.”

Severus raises an eyebrow, amused. Remus is not throwing him out. Remus is blushing. Severus thinks this is a good sign. He nods. “I’m doing well,” he says, answering Remus’ earlier question. “I’ve been refining the recipe for the pain potion I developed for you. I’ve also been cleaning up all the messes your dreadful kitten makes.” And being tricked into playing with the dratted beast. Two nights ago it brought him one of its fuzzy toys and he threw it away from him four times before he realized the ‘idiot’ creature was using him as a playmate. Bloody Slytherin cat.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says. “I suppose it was too much of an imposition to ask you to care for him. I’ll arrange for Ginny to take him.”

“Oh, by now I’ve grown used to it,” Severus says with a long-suffering tone. “You might as well leave the thing where he is.”

Remus smiles. “Are you certain?”

Severus would miss that ridiculously loud purr in his ear while he sleeps; and he is certain that Remus knows this. “Quite certain.” He surveys Remus for a moment. “Smethwyk said you’ve been overexerting yourself.” Remus opens his mouth, but Severus continues, “He said you were here for two months without even trying to recover your strength.”

Remus looks down, his fingers pulling at the covers. After a long silence, he says, “I wasn’t certain if there was any point to trying.” There is another long silence. “I was tired, Severus.” His voice is resigned.

For a long while, Severus doesn’t respond. His heart begins pounding again as he thinks. Finally he swallows and asks, his voice low. “Does it mean so much to know that someone cares about you?”

He has said it, and it cannot now be unsaid. He wants to run away. He wants to pass it off as a cruel joke. He wants to Obliviate Remus. He wants Remus to answer him. He keeps his gaze on Remus’ hands, which is much safer than seeing a look of dawning pity on his face.

But one of the hands moves, and Severus cannot even think of drawing back. The hand curls around his jaw, gently guiding Severus to lift his head and look at him. Golden eyes meet his, and they are strangely bright and filled with wonder.

“Not someone, Severus.” He pauses. “You.”

And Severus decides there may yet be hope and happiness in the world. He leans close, watching Remus’ eyes go wide, then fall shut, and he lifts his own hand to cup the werewolf’s cheek, and then their mouths meet. Remus’ lips are hot and dry, slightly rough. He hasn’t shaved today. Severus feels a thrill run through him as Remus sighs softly and slides his fingers up into Severus’ ragged hair.

Remus’ lips part and Severus slides his tongue in, eager yet almost frightened. Remus’ mouth tastes of tea and medicine, and Severus remembers that he forgot to clean his teeth after lunch, and it’s been so long since he kissed someone that he is preoccupied with his nose not getting in the way. He explores Remus’ mouth with soft, slow motions, lifting his other hand to cradle Remus’ face. His heart feels as though it will push through his chest, and he feels an ache in his throat and a sting in his eyes and fiercely forbids himself to cry.

It is the most perfect moment in all of Severus’ life.

* * *

**Prompt:** 26 - Kiss


	10. Retreat

Severus finds it intriguing, almost amusing, to discover that Remus is interested in genealogy.

Remus had asked him to retrieve a box of possessions—including the Lupin family tree—left at Grimmauld Place for safekeeping. Thursday morning Severus brings the box to Remus, who is sitting at table eating breakfast when he arrives. He pauses in the doorway, taking a moment to admire how the morning sunlight turns Remus golden, hiding the horrible grey in his hair.

Detecting his presence, Remus lifts his gaze from his porridge and smiles. “Good morning,” he says quietly.

Severus nods in reply, moving to place the box on the floor next to Remus and then sitting across from him. They haven’t talked about yesterday’s kiss, or the way Remus fell asleep with Severus’ hand clutched in his. Part of Severus almost wants never to discuss it, just to return to the way they were before. Other parts of him (the traitorous lonely part, and the part that wants to undress Remus and kiss him again and not stop, and the part that knows this is all Severus’ life is lacking) want more—dangerously much more.

They are silent for a time. Severus pours himself a cup of tea as Remus finishes his breakfast. Remus eats tidily, and Severus is pleased to see that his hand doesn’t shake when he lifts the spoon. “You look better,” he says finally. He is grateful that his voice doesn’t shake when he says it. He is unused to giving compliments.

Remus smiles. “Thank you,” he replies, and takes a drink of tea. His expression is calm, but a line of pink burns along his cheekbones, and Severus thinks he looks good with colour in his face again.

“I couldn’t help but notice the family tree. Rather an odd thing for a half-blood to have.”

“Do you think so?” Remus’ expression is placid, which is a relief; Severus was almost afraid the remark would make him angry, but he’s curious.

“I’m not interested in my lineage. Why bother? I’m not a pureblood, and nothing can make me one. I always focused on what I could make of myself, not what others in my family had been.”

The corners of Remus’ mouth lift slightly. Severus knows he must be thinking that whatever he tried to make of himself, he’d done a bad job. Severus sighs. “It was always easier to say I didn’t care, when Lucius started going on about his great-grandfather so-and-so who’d done such-and-such.”

Remus nods. “My father’s family is from France,” he says. “ _J’e ne parle pas bien le francais,_ but my grandmother told the most fascinating stories of their life. I didn’t have many friends, because of the way we moved around after I was bitten.” He shrugs and smiles down at his teacup. “To me, those stories made my ancestors seem like friends.”

Severus watches Remus’ face as he talks. He is so alive, so interesting. “I want to kiss you.” The words leap out of Severus’ mouth with absolutely no warning, and he is appalled at himself. But Remus sets the teacup down so quickly it rattles dangerously against the saucer, and says, “Alright.”

So Severus goes around the table and kneels and kisses Remus for the second time. It doesn’t have quite the heart-stopping quality of the first kiss. But it is still comfortable and nerve-wracking all at once, and his entire body feels on fire.

He pulls away much sooner than he wants to.

“I want to do that every day,” he says, again humiliated by his ridiculous inability to keep from blurting out his every thought to Remus Lupin.

Remus’ smile is worth it. “I want that, too,” he says. He laughs softly. “I thought it would be difficult to bring this up,” he said. “I’d planned a very roundabout line of discussion to get to this.”

Severus sighs. “I seem to keep saying things to you, even though I don’t mean to.”

Remus lifts his hand and strokes it down Severus’ cheek, very slowly. “I’m glad.”

“I almost didn’t come visit you at all,” Severus admits, liking the feel of Remus’ hand against his cheek so much that he keeps talking just so Remus will keep touching him. “I didn’t want you to see me, but…I wanted to know that you were all right.” _I killed the Lestranges because of you,_ he wants to add, but knows he can’t, because Remus already knows this, and Severus probably ought to be ashamed of it, but he’s glad, and he’ll always be glad. He would have been glad even if Remus had never spoken to him again, just knowing he’d managed to save him.

“What are you thinking?” Remus says, his voice soft.

Severus draws back, automatically checking the walls of his Occlumency.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says quickly, probably thinking he is at fault, rather than Severus.

Severus shakes his head. “You ought to…” But he can’t bring himself to tell Remus that he ought to forget about him, to move on with his life. Even if it’s the truth, it isn’t what he wants, and he is so tired of not having what he wants. But Remus deserves more than a broken and emotionally crippled Death Eater.

Remus’ golden eyes are too kind—they are painful. “Severus, what is it?”

Severus sighs and pulls away. “Nothing,” he says, standing. “It isn’t your fault, Remus. I have to go.”

Remus’ gaze turns from understanding to hurt in the span of a heartbeat, but Severus doesn’t know what to say, or unsay, to make that hurt disappear. He looks at Remus for a long moment, then turns and leaves.

* * *

**Prompt:** 17 - Ancestry


	11. Refining

The letter is in Remus’ own hand, and Severus breathes a small sigh of relief. Two days of silence have been nearly unbearable, even though that is what he expected—what he _asked_ for.

 

_Severus,_

_I am so **angry** with you. Do you have any idea how badly you’ve hurt me? How dare you come and make me care about you, and then do **this**? How **DARE** you? “Remus, I don’t deserve you!” ???_

_**Fuck** that, Severus, and fuck you, too! No one deserves anything! We are all unworthy. Don’t you see that? I killed Fenrir Greyback. Not with my wand, not with a potion, but with my HANDS and with my TEETH. I **murdered him**. Perhaps that seems a small transgression to you, but I certainly haven’t felt worthy or deserving since then._

_~~That doesn’t stop me from wanting y~~ _

_I’m angry, and I’m hurt, and I miss you._

_Please come back._

_R._

 

Severus’ hands are shaking so badly he can barely read by the end of the letter. It’s almost worse than if Remus stood before him, shouting. The words fairly ring off the parchment, and there are two rips in the parchment where the quill pushed through. He wonders why Remus didn’t just send him a Howler.

There is a tug at his sleeve and he looks down. Wolfsbane is patting his arm.

“Go away,” Severus whispers through the tightness in his throat, and the cat sinks its claws through shirt sleeve into flesh.

“Damn you,” Severus manages, his voice shaking. He scoops the kitten up and presses his face against warm fur. Wolfsbane begins purring immediately.

They both have their fucking claws in him, the werewolf and the cat. And he can’t escape either of them, can’t escape the improbable longing and the ridiculous hope. He wishes he could remember how to cry, that his father’s frequent rages hadn’t driven the ability out of him long ago. Instead he is stuck with an appalling tightness in his throat and chest, an ache so strong and deep that he wonders if the weight of it will crush his heart. It would be a quick way to die, at least. Not painless--it’s the worst pain he can remember feeling--but at least it would be quick.

Trembling, Severus stalks to the sofa and sits down, unable to think of anything besides this horrible misery. He’s done it to himself. He knows this. It was the height of stupidity to write that letter. To think he was capable of anything that was noble and good. To think that he could actually have the strength to walk away from Remus and give him the chance to have something pure in his life.

A sharp pain tears his attention away from the spiral of self-pity in which he is drowning. “Bloody hell!” he croaks, ripping his ear out of Wolfsbane’s mouth. “Bloody monster! I can see why Remus chose _you_!”

Wolfsbane gives him a baleful glare and lashes his tail as Severus sets him gently on the sofa cushion.

“Go away,” Severus says again, but his voice has gone almost back to normal, and he gets up and stalks into the back room to have a shower.

 

**.:.**

 

Severus’ hands are shaking again when he reaches the visitor’s entrance of St Mungo’s. He has taken unusual care with his appearance, knowing it will make little difference; he has barely slept in three nights, and he knows it shows. All the same, he tucks his still-damp hair back behind his ears and stares at himself in the plate-glass reflection, trying to determine what Remus will see. He is dressed in Muggle clothes again—jeans, because he has discovered Remus likes them, and a charcoal-coloured jumper. He has three red roses in his hand, because it seemed like a good idea when he walked past the street vendor. Now he is tempted to bin them, but the dummy is already gesturing him in, and he feels like a fool just standing there, indecisive.

With a sigh, he strides into the lobby, and is appalled to find he has almost run into Hermione Granger-Weasley. _Bloody hell, of all the people…_

“Hello, Severus,” she says, giving him a look he can’t interpret. She has grown up a lot since her days of waving her hand dementedly in his classes. She learned how to refine her focus during the months that Weasley was missing, and when he was returned to them by some mysterious saviour, albeit missing a hand and a foot and with his hair gone prematurely white, she had retained that focus. She had chivvied Weasley through his recovery, married him, and begun a family, forcing him to learn how to be a man despite his missing limbs. It occurs to Severus that perhaps she could lend him insight into how best to deal with Remus. Then it occurs to him that Remus might not want to be ‘dealt with’.

“Mrs Granger-Weasley,” he replies, giving her a grave nod.

“Will you call me Hermione?” she asks him, for at least the tenth time, resting a hand on her swelling belly.

“I don’t think so,” he says thoughtfully. Though for the first time it doesn’t seem entirely incongruous.

She sighs, but nods. “You’re here to see Remus.”

He doesn’t reply. He wonders how much Remus has confided to his friends about Severus. He thinks about Smethwyck saying that Remus wasn’t really a part of their lives. He remembers the way Hermione had told him Remus was here in the first place. Perhaps this is one topic about which she actually knows more than she is saying.

“I am…difficult to put up with,” he says finally, his voice stiff.

Her smile is wide and genuine, surprising him. “He’s known that all along,” she says, and then she is past him, out the door, and he is left to goggle after her in shock.

 

**.:.**

 

He knows Remus will only hear him or smell him if he hovers outside in the hall, so he forces himself to knock firmly on the doorframe and, upon receiving an invitation, go inside. He is a little ashamed of the flowers, now, but he holds them out dutifully, and Remus looks at them for a moment before lifting his eyes to meet Severus’.

“This doesn’t fix things,” he says quietly.

Severus shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re full of Thestral shit,” Remus replies. His voice is stern, but not cold. He takes the roses from Severus and places them in his pitcher of water. They make a strange sight, but Severus supposes it is appropriate, considering who they are.

“I didn’t bring you any presents,” Severus says in a low voice. “But I promise not to run away again. I…I thought I should tell you that first.”

Remus gives him a hard look. “I prefer that to any other present,” he says finally. “Sit down, Severus.”

Severus obeys, wondering why he is suddenly afraid. He knows he isn’t being thrown out. He is being asked to stay. After his exile from Hogwarts, after the years spent on the run, he thought running made for a hard life. But perhaps staying is more difficult.

“How is Wolfsbane?”

“He bit me,” Severus replies. He turns his head to show off the wounds left by the needle-sharp teeth.

Remus catches his lower lip between his teeth, obviously trying not to smile. “Did it hurt terribly?” he asks.

“No, but it’s a dreadful habit for a kitten to have,” Severus replies.

Remus blinks. “You’re the one raising him,” he says, and that’s definitely a smile.

Severus scowls. “Oh, so it’s your kitten, but you’re going to blame me?” he asks.

Remus laughs. “Exactly.” Then he sighs, but the smile doesn’t leave his face, even when his words turn somewhat melancholy. “Severus, don’t you see that we’re good together? Neither one of us is entirely whole or entirely sane, but at least we match up fairly well.”

Severus wants desperately to look away, to hide from Remus’ frankness. And yet a part of him is relieved. “I have…almost been happy, these past few weeks,” he admits. Remus, he reflects, is more potent than Veritaserum.

Remus’ eyes ignite. “There, you see? That’s what I mean.” He leans forward to take Severus’ hand, twining his strong fingers through Severus’ bonier ones. “We’ll probably never be anything besides broken, but at least we can be happy despite it.”

Severus can’t deny the allure of this. He stares down at their joined hands for a moment, then looks back up at Remus. “It—it can’t be that simple.”

“Yes,” Remus says, lifting their hands so he can press his lips against Severus’ knuckles. “It can.”

* * *

**Prompt:** 40 - Fight


	12. Repose

Remus Lupin is, Severus reflects, the most annoying and addicting man he knows.

“If you wanted boxers, why the bloody hell didn’t you say so?” he demands, his brows drawing together in a scowl.

Remus sighs and shrugs. “I didn’t think to specify,” he says. “It doesn’t matter. These are fine.”

Severus glares down at the plain white Y-fronts he’d purchased. He’d bought them for Lupin because he’d always bought them for himself. They were simple and serviceable, and how was he to know Lupin didn’t like them? Suddenly he wonders if he ought to buy himself some different pants—and then he quells the thought as crass and frightening. “No, they aren’t,” he says, his voice sounding sullen even to him.

Remus’ face relaxes into a small grin. “Severus, they’re just pants. And I should have told you what I preferred, and I didn’t, and I apologize. I’d rather you were here with me than exchanging these at the shop, which I expect would be a rather embarrassing experience, anyway.”

Severus sighs and goes to sit in the chair across from his. “I suppose you have a point,” he concedes, mostly because he would rather be here than nearly anywhere else, anyway.

Remus stretches a hand across the table, and Severus cannot push down a small smile as he covers it with his own, partly because he is still amazed to have such a thing offered to him, and partly because Remus’ hand is nearly steady today.

“Hermione has been to see me,” Remus is saying. His gaze is on their joined hands, where Severus is running a thumb slowly back and forth across Remus’ skin. “She’s talking about naming the baby John, if it’s a boy.”

Severus looks at him blankly, because really, he can’t imagine why Remus thinks he cares.

“I cannot disabuse her of the notion that I was the one who rescued Ron from the Death Eaters,” Remus says. “She wants to name their firstborn after me.”

Severus lifts his eyebrows. “John?” he says, his voice laced with irony.

“My middle name.” Remus gives him a crooked smile. “As if I would inflict ‘Remus’ on anyone.”

“It’s a nice name,” Severus says absently. And if he happens to think it sounds nice next to his, that isn’t something he’ll ever tell anyone.

Remus’ smile widens. “Thank you,” he says, his fingers tightening briefly on Severus’. “Ron is doing well. He’s been in hospital again for some work. They’ve fitted him with his false leg. It sounds as if he’ll be going back home again soon.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Severus asks finally.

Remus looks at him in momentary startlement, then laughs. “I suppose it’s because I have my own suspicions about who delivered Ron Weasley back to the Order.”

Severus sighs and looks at the table. “Must we talk about that?” he asks quietly.

If Remus is surprised by his reaction, he doesn’t show it. “No, not if you don’t want to, Severus. But anything you say to me goes no further. I hope you know that.”

Severus shifts uncomfortably and tightens his hold on Remus’ hand. “It—isn’t that I don’t trust you,” he says finally, haltingly. “I just…I find it difficult…”

“It’s all right,” Remus begins, and Severus shoots him a Look that silences him.

“I find it difficult to…accept the credit for those things.” Severus takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. After a moment he feels Remus’ fingers tighten around his. “If I think about the…the _good_ things I did…I am forced to think of all the times I failed. I saved young Weasley, but I failed Emmeline Vance. “ He is silent for a long time. “I failed so many people.”

“You did what you could,” Remus says. “I know it’s cold comfort..”

Severus sighs. After a moment he is surprised to hear Remus moving, and then feel a tug at his hand. He opens his eyes and looks at Remus in confusion.

”Come sit with me on the bed,” he says quietly. “There’s room for both of us. “I…would like to put my arms around you.”

After a moment Severus nods and stands up. Remus is walking much better these days, and though he still has trouble with fine motor control, Severus knows the day is coming when Remus, too, will be released from St Mungo’s. He hopes Remus will agree to come to Spinner’s End, when that day comes. He doesn’t know how to ask, but he has determined that he will.

For the moment, he watches in contentment as Remus settles himself on the bed, on top of the covers, and holds out his arms. Without hesitation, Severus puts himself in them.

* * *

**Prompt:** 35 - Underwear


	13. Reconsidering

He has been thinking how much easier it will be if Remus agrees to come back to Spinner’s End when the St Mungo’s Healers let him go. Not that he’s brought the idea up with Remus, of course, but it’s an idea that’s been simmering in the back of his mind for days now, waiting for the right mixture of moment and method to bring it to maturity and let him speak of it.

Severus reconsiders things the first time they negotiate the stairs at the end of the ward.

“This is a piss-poor idea,” he grouses, hovering near Remus, watching as his grip on the railing grows tighter.

“No, it isn’t,” Remus returns, and he is as close to being cross as Severus has ever seen. His knuckles are white.

“What would you call it, then?” Severus asks reasonably.

“I would call it me getting up the stairs and you being an annoying git,” Remus grits out. He’s got his teeth clenched with the effort, and he wobbles every time he takes a step up with his left leg, but he is still climbing.

“An annoying git would’ve let you fall a moment ago,” Severus points out.

“An annoying git can’t just drop it, can he?” Remus is sweating. Severus has begun to grow nervous, which is saying a lot, but he’s not willing to give in.

“Not if you’re going to keep calling names instead of focusing on what you’re supposed to be doing,” he retorts.

“Go to hell,” Remus replies.

Severus thinks about that for a moment. “Been there,” he says finally, his voice bland. “I didn’t care for the meal plan.”

Remus snorts, and after a long moment in the balance, he actually laughs. Severus lets out a long slow breath and gazes back at Remus, the corners of his mouth quirking up. They reach the top of the stops smiling—well, Remus smiling, and Severus almost-smiling—and Remus allows Severus to loop an arm around his waist and take some of his weight. They move slowly, almost strolling, down the passage. Severus is alarmed at how heavily Remus is limping, and he wonders if he should have agreed to this. As they return the way the came, he steers Remus towards the lifts.

“I can make it back down,” Remus insists. He is breathing hard.

“Like hell you can,” Severus says pleasantly. He has discovered that saying unpleasant things in a pleasant tone of voice drive Remus mad, which he finds to be an intensely satisfying experience.

“You’re a bastard.”

Severus gives him an amused look. “I’m not, actually. My parents were married before I was even conceived, let alone born.”

Remus snorts again and nudges him. Remus has discovered, to Severus’ distinct displeasure, that Severus is ticklish, and Remus seems to enjoy poking him in the ribs at unsuspecting moments.

There is no one else in the lift, so Remus takes advantage of the privacy to back Severus into a corner, tickling him until Severus, breathless, can’t help but laugh. Then Remus stops, leaning heavily against him, their faces very close. Severus’ laughter trails away, his breath catching as Remus’ eyes shine up into his. These are the moments that catch him the most unprepared, these small moments when he realizes how _happy_ he is, how much he has to lose. He swallows hard, but Remus leans up and closes the distance between them, and their lips brush, softly at first, then firmly. Remus lifts one hand to tangle in Severus’ hair. Severus closes his arms around Remus’ waist. The lift stops, and the jolt of it makes Remus stumble backward, and only Severus’ quick lunge keeps him from toppling. They are both laughing when the lift doors open.

This is the next occurrence that makes Severus reconsider everything: Harry Potter is standing just outside the lift.

“The Healer said you’d gone upstairs with _him_ ,” he says in a cold voice. His words and gaze are directed at Remus. His entire body is tense, and Severus sees the strain it is for Potter not to whip out his wand and hex him into oblivion.

“Yes, Harry, allow me to introduce you to my friend Severus Snape, who helped us defeat Voldemort.” Remus’ smile has died, the sparkle in his eyes dimmed, as he moves slightly away from Severus to stand on his own. “Severus, this is my friend Harry Potter, the Man Who Lived.”

Severus, for his part, is willing to go along, for Remus’ sake, and even goes so far as to half-extend his hand, before he realizes that Potter hasn’t even looked at him. He feels Remus’ arm brush his, so he knows his attempt hasn’t gone unnoticed, but now Severus just feels humiliated. He pulls his hand back and shoves it inside his pocket, hating himself for letting another Potter make him feel like a stupid, awkward, unpopular schoolboy again.

“Remus, I’ve said before that I know he did what he had to do, but I’m not going to forgive him.”

“You could try saying that to him,” Remus says, his voice mild. Severus can see the tension in Remus’ lean form, and wonders how far Potter is going to push him before he gives in.

“I don’t have anything to say to him.” The green eyes are cold.

Remus straightens. “Then you haven’t anything to say to me at this moment, either.” He takes Severus’ wrist in an uncompromising grip and steps forward, forcing Severus to choose between moving with him or making him fall, and forcing Harry to choose between blocking their way or stepping aside. For a moment Severus thinks they are all going to collide, but then Harry moves away, his face hard.

Severus can’t help exulting in this. Remus has chosen _him_ over Potter. He never imagined such a day would come, and now that it has, he is afraid to believe in it. What has possessed Remus? Severus stares at the other man, schooling his expression to be impassive, though his thoughts are racing, calculating, reconsidering yet again.

Remus doesn’t release his grip on Severus’ arm, even when it should be obvious that Severus is coming with him. Instead, his fingers slowly tighten until the knuckles are white and Severus can feel that he will have bruises. He is limping badly, and Severus can just imagine that Potter is going to go tattle on him to his friends. Though, really, what can they do to him? Nothing worse than what has already been done. He sighs and stops walking.

Remus, jerked to a halt a step ahead of him, turns his head to glare at him. Severus surprises himself by laughing. “You look like Wolfsbane,” he comments, and gently removes his hand from Remus’ grip. He then surprises Remus, if the expression on his face as any judge, by offering his other arm—the one farther from Remus. Remus takes it slowly, and Severus gives him a calm nod, then curls his newly-freed arm around Remus’ shoulders.

Remus looks up at him, apparently trying to read Severus’ expression. For some reason this amuses Severus, who shakes his head. “Why did you do that, Remus?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“That. With Potter.”

Remus’ lips curve up in a small grin. “Because if Harry can’t accept that having you in my life makes me happy, then he’ll have to accept that he can no longer be part of it.”

That ought to make Severus feel better—after all, isn’t it what he wanted, all those years ago when they were students? For Lupin to choose Severus, choose to follow the _rules_ , over Potter, just once? But instead it makes him feel slightly queasy.

“I don’t want you to choose between me and Potter,” he says curtly, looking away.

Remus’ hand touches the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn back. There is a sigh. “I don’t want to choose between you either,” Remus replies. “But I will, if he forces me to.”

Severus doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. They reach the room in silence, and for some reason he feels the need to look over Remus’ bowed head, down the hallway, to where Potter is standing, hands clenched into fists. Their eyes meet for the barest moment before Harry jerks his gaze away and strides off towards the staircase, and Severus knows there is trouble brewing.

Remus tugs on his arm, and Severus follows him back into the room that has become his safe haven, his respite from the world. He wonders how long it will be before Potter enlists aid and returns to drive them apart. He looks down at Remus, at the open affection in the other man’s smile, and reconsiders things yet again.

_Bring on your battle, Potter. I will do whatever he requires to keep him. I doubt you can say as much._

* * *

**Prompt:** 30 - Stairs


	14. Renaissance

“Doesn’t it smell marvelous? And it’s so warm!”

It is April, and Severus and Remus are taking their first walk in the garden. Remus has been doing very well with the cane, and he has persuaded Smethwyck that it will do him good to get some fresh air. Severus was skeptical, but Remus is so excited about being outdoors again that Severus has a hard time keeping a straight face.

“It is…warm, yes,” he allows, folding his arms across his chest. He is wearing a charcoal grey button shirt and jeans, because he still prefers entering St Mungo’s from the Muggle side, and he has noticed Remus with an appreciative look in his eye sometimes, when Remus thinks Severus won’t notice his arse is being ogled.

Remus grins at him and pauses to take Severus’ arm. Severus manages not to flinch from the very public gesture, but he is uncomfortable with it. He has never made his sexual preferences common knowledge, and he cannot see any reason to do so now. Indeed, wouldn’t it look marvelous, for the entire Wizarding world to discover that the man who was head of Slytherin House for twelve years was a sodomite? Severus supposes, rather bitterly, that it would be enough for certain people to attempt having him thrown back into Azkaban, for fear their darling little Zabinis and Goyles had been defiled.

He allows none of his turmoil to show now, however. Remus’ grasp on his arm is light and welcome, and Severus sees no advantage to allowing his sexual orientation to become common knowledge, but Remus cares for him, Remus wants to touch him, and by Merlin Severus will allow it if it means that allowing it won’t hurt Remus. He looks down at Remus, a tiny smile touching his lips.

“You like the spring.”

“I love the spring,” Remus agrees, grinning. “But more than that, I’m just grateful to be outside. I’m not exactly an indoor werewolf.”

Severus can’t help it; he laughs. He has discovered that he _enjoys_ laughing, particularly when Remus laughs with him. Remus is looking at him now with laughter and such affection in his eyes that Severus also can’t stop himself from reaching up to ghost his hand over soft, greying brown hair that has grown long enough to brush Remus’ shirt collar.

At this touch, Remus sobers slightly, staring at Severus for a moment before he smiles again. Severus wonders at this, then realizes that he has just indulged in the very thing he was mentally cringing at moments earlier; he has made a public gesture of affection towards Remus.

He suppresses an immediate instinct to look around and see who witnessed it, and instead allows his mouth to curve into a real smile. “I’m glad this makes you happy,” he says quietly. And it’s true; he likes seeing Remus happy. He believes Remus deserves happiness, despite what Remus says about Greyback and past sins. He likes that anything he does can make Remus happy.

Remus smiles back at him, his eyes shining. “Yes,” he says, his voice nearly inaudible. He looks down again and they walk for a time in silence. Severus automatically adjusts his pace to match Remus’ slower, halting one. It seems natural, as if they have walked alongside each other all their lives, instead of only two months. He marvels at how easy and right it feels.

Suddenly Remus veers to the left with a small exclamation. “I never saw this from the window!”

Severus jolts out of his introspection and looks up to see a stone bench hidden in a nook behind some shrubbery. He bites back a smirk. The stone is weathered and covered in lichen, and when Remus draws Severus down beside him, they discover another hidden delight--there is a small fountain built so only those sitting on the bench can observe it. Remus nudges Severus. “Do you have a Knut?”

Severus fishes one out of his pocket and hands it over, curious.

Remus smiles, kisses the coin, and then tosses it into the fountain. Severus wonders what he wished for.

“This is beautiful,” Remus says, leaning back happily.

Severus surprises himself by putting an arm around Remus’ shoulders and drawing him close. “You aren’t cold?” he asks.

Remus chuckles and leans up enough to brush a kiss across his jaw. “How could I be, with you here? But thank you for asking.”

Severus finds himself slightly embarrassed at his unwonted fussing, but undeniably pleased at Remus’ lips on his skin. He closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, the crisp, slightly cool air a pleasant counterpoint to the heat of Remus’ body next to his. “I--Remus,” he begins, feeling oddly hesitant and not knowing exactly why. He is almost certain Remus will agree.

Remus turns his head to nuzzle against Severus’ throat. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Smethwyck tells me you’re improving dramatically.”

“Mmm.” Remus presses a kiss against his neck, sending shivers through Severus’ entire body. They have rarely had time or opportunity for such behaviour, and Severus has to fight to keep from losing his train of thought. He tightens his arm around Remus.

“Have you given any thought to the fact that you’ll soon be able to leave hospital?”

Remus pulls away enough to look up at Severus, an odd expression on his face. Severus can’t tell whether Remus is disappointed or annoyed or merely confused. Severus bites his lip against a strange urge to laugh.

“I haven’t, really,” Remus admits. “I’m rather used to living one day at a time. A twenty-five-year habit that I suspect will take time to break.”

Severus misses the heat of Remus’ mouth against him. “Will you come to Spinner’s End with me?”

Remus’ expression is like sunshine, like phoenix song, like Felix Felicis. “Yes!” he says.

Severus gazes, rapt, at this strange, fascinating, beautiful man next to him. “You will?” He can hardly believe his luck, for all that Remus has been rather persistent in showing him affection. It has been almost a week since the encounter with Potter; Severus wonders if Potter’s next move will change this.

“Yes,” Remus says again. He slides his fingers into Severus’ hair and pulls him down for a kiss, and Severus gives in to it easily. His tongue seeks and gains entrance, and he revels in the sweetness and heat of Remus. Flashes of heat run through him, and he tightens his arms around Remus, wanting this moment to go on forever.

Of course it can’t, but it does go on for a good minute or two before they can tear themselves apart. Remus smiles breathlessly at Severus, who cannot help but smile breathlessly back, and Remus asks, “What is Spinner’s End?”

Severus puts his head back and laughs.

* * *

**Prompt:** 57 - Wish


	15. Retribution

Severus and Remus are having tea and talking about nothing in particular when Ginny Weasley comes to visit. She knocks on the half-open door with unwonted timidity, and looks relieved when Remus smiles and beckons her in. He stands and clasps her outstretched hands and kisses her cheek. Severus admires the grace in Remus’ gesture, even if his steps are faltering; he is smiling faintly when Ginny turns her gaze to him. He sees the knowing look in her eyes and knows he is doomed.

“Hallo, Professor Snape,” she says politely.

He pushes down his surprise at her civility and nods stiffly. “Miss Weasley. I am no longer a professor. Ah—I hope you are well.”

She dimples prettily. “I am, thanks. And you?”

He swallows. “I am well.”

Remus is beaming at their polite conversation, which serves to make Severus feel vaguely guilty and more than a little annoyed. “Sit down, Ginny,” Remus says. “Would you like tea?”

“Thanks,” she says, grinning at Remus and taking a seat. It’s plain they have a good relationship, and Severus feels a pang of jealousy that surprises him. He wants that ease, that sort of simple friendship.

“What brings you this way?” Remus asks. “I know you’re busy with wedding plans.”

“Actually, it’s the wedding I wanted to talk to you about. Harry wants you to be one of the groomsmen.”

Severus snorts into his teacup, though he hasn’t missed the way Remus’ face lights up at this idea. Ginny glances at Severus, and to his utter astonishment, she grins.

“I know, he’s being a regular prat about it. Hermione and I have tried to make him see reason, but you know how personally he takes things.”

“All appearances to the contrary, life does not revolve around Harry Potter,” Severus says, but his voice isn’t nearly as biting as it could be.

Ginny and Remus share a glance that Severus can’t interpret, then Remus sets his teacup down. He has the air of someone about to render a verdict. “Harry can ask me himself to be in the wedding.”

Ginny nods. “How’s your physical therapy coming along, Remus?” she asks, and at first Severus is surprised at the direct question, but then he realizes she has made it plain that Remus’ word on the subject is final.

“Quite well, thanks,” Remus says. “I might be able to go home as early as next week, if everything goes as Hippocrates wants.”

Ginny smiles widely. “That’s wonderful news! We hadn’t any idea you were coming along so brilliantly. At first, you know, we were so afraid for you.” Her tone takes on a confiding quality. She leans forward and places a hand on Remus’, and Severus is pleased that he manages to keep from snarling at her. “Harry always came back from visiting you, and he’d sit and put his head in his hands and you know how he doesn’t cry anymore, but I’d always think if he could just cry, he’d feel better. He blames himself for a lot of things he shouldn’t, but I don’t know if I can ever do anything about that. I just love him and hope that’s enough.”

Severus turns his gaze on his teacup to keep from staring at her. She is so…open, so vulnerable, with her emotions. How can she stand it? Doesn’t she have any dignity? She is expressing deep fears and concerns in front of him. How does she know he won’t use them against her later? He and Potter hate each other, after all. It is reasonable to assume there will be further conflict. Why would she express this in front of Potter’s enemy?

Remus sighs, which draws Severus’ gaze back to him. He is smiling somewhat sadly. “Harry takes too much on himself, always,” he says. Then he pats Ginny’s hand and draws back to curl his fingers around his teacup. “How are your brothers?”

Ginny grins. “Great! Fred and George are opening a shop in Paris—Fleur’s sister Gabrielle is going to manage it for them. Fleur and Billy have talked about moving there to help, but Fleur…well, she’s not ready to leave Bill yet, you know. Percy’s—ah, he’s just Percy. And Ron got his new leg, which is _much_ more modern than Mad-Eye’s. Ron says he keeps meaning to visit you, but with the new baby on the way, things are a bit hectic.”

A wistful expression crosses Remus’ face, and Severus understands, though he doesn’t feel wistful about it. Everyone is busy—except Remus, and him.

Severus manages to hold his tongue and keep from making sour faces for the remainder of her visit. She doesn’t stay long—she has a cake-tasting appointment, whatever that means. Remus is smiling when she leaves, but he looks tired.

Severus can never keep from responding to Remus’ nonverbal cues. He shifts his chair around so he can rest his hand on Remus’ thigh, and Remus leans his head against Severus’ shoulder. It still surprises Severus, every time Remus makes a casual gesture of affection—for that matter it still surprises him when _he_ makes a gesture of affection. They are never casual gestures from him, though. To reach out and touch another person requires thought, planning…courage. He is still sometimes afraid that Remus will push him away, and there are times when he wishes to touch Remus, but doesn’t dare.

“She didn’t ask where I’m going, when I go home,” Remus says after they have been sitting that way for a long time.

Severus rouses himself from his thoughts. “Perhaps she assumes you’ll be going back to where you lived before the war.”

“I lived at Grimmauld Place,” Remus points out.

“Children rarely think of such things,” Severus says negligently. Harry has sold Grimmauld Place, had it cleared out by the most skilled wizards he could find, and sold to a Wizarding family from Heatherington—people who have no idea of the house’s history and all the sorrows it enfolds.

“She will wonder, eventually,” Remus persists. “They all will.”

Severus thinks for a moment, then rests his cheek against Remus’ hair, marveling at how soft it feels. “What will you tell them?”

“I’ll tell them whatever you want me to,” Remus replies. It surprises Severus. Remus smiles. “I know you’re a much more private person than I am,” he says. “And you are more of a public figure than I.”

“You got the Order of Merlin First Class,” Severus feels obliged to point out.

“You saved us,” Remus counters. Severus tenses. Remus sighs. “That wasn’t my point. The point is, I know you may not want this to be public knowledge. I am not eager to hide our relationship, but I am willing. If you want.”

Severus doesn’t know how to respond to this. He certainly doesn’t want Remus to think he is ashamed of him, or ashamed of being gay. But his private life has already been under such intrusive scrutiny that he is reluctant to hold any other part of it up for others to see. At the same time, this is Remus, and Severus would do anything for him. Including make a target of himself, he realizes.

“I...wouldn’t want you to take out an advertisement in the _Daily Prophet_ ,” he begins dryly. “But I see no reason for you to hide it from your friends. I…I am grateful…proud…to be…” But what is he? He isn’t even certain of that, suddenly. They aren’t lovers, at least not physically. There has been no talk of _love_ at all. There has just been companionship, constancy, care.

“To be?” Remus asks softly. He hasn’t lifted his head from Severus’ shoulder, so Severus can only see that his eyes are closed, but his brow is uncreased.

“To be with you,” Severus says finally. He hopes it is the right thing to say.

Remus smiles and lifts his face to kiss Severus. “I am grateful and proud to be with you, too,” he says, his voice quiet.

Severus finds no need for further words just then. He kisses Remus again, and finds himself thinking eagerly of the future, when Remus comes to live with him.

**.:.**

Harry arrives exactly two days after Ginny’s visit. Severus is coming back from an appointment with Smethwyck to learn what accommodations to make for Remus, and what modifications Spinner’s End will need. Walking up the corridor towards Remus’ room, he sees Potter get off the lift and stride with a determined air to knock on Remus’ door.

Severus has no desire to muck up Remus’ invitation to be in Potter’s wedding. He has come to understand that his acceptance of Potter as Remus’ friend is one of the conditions of having a relationship with Remus. Nonetheless he sees no reason to inflict Potter on himself unless it is utterly necessary; therefore he stops in the hall and looks out a window to the garden.

He has grown fond of this garden. They have walked in it a few times, on the finer days of the spring, and Remus always manages to draw him to the private bench where they can snog like teenagers. Severus is studying the view with such close attention that he doesn’t realize at first that he can hear Potter’s half of the conversation with Remus.

“You would honestly rather spend that time with _him_ than at my wedding?”

There is a soft murmur that Severus assumes is Remus’ reply.

“Remus, please, I don’t want anything to ruin this for Ginny. We’ve already had to put this off for too long.”

Remus’ reply is again too quiet to hear.

“Remus, you’re the closest I have to a dad! I need you to be there!”

“Then you will simply have to accept Severus’ presence there.”

Oh Merlin, Severus doesn’t want to go to Potter’s Wedding. He wonders if Remus will truly insist. Perhaps he ought to interrupt.

“I don’t want a murderer at my wedding!” Harry snaps.

Remus’ voice is colder than Severus has ever heard it. “Then you won’t want me there.”

Bloody fuck. He _should_ have interrupted. Of course it’s too late now. He eases back away from the door, wondering how long it will take Potter to come storming out of the room. He will take the lift, so Severus will have to position himself carefully. He glances into a room, finds it empty, and stands just inside the door.

Potter behaves on cue. When he is almost past the doorway in which Severus is lurking, Severus darts out, seizing Potter by the front of his robes and shoving him against the opposite wall of the corridor. Potter lets out a grunt and locks his hands around Severus’ wrists, glaring back at him.

Severus has to admit he’s somewhat impressed by the control of Potter’s reaction—though his reflexes still aren’t what they used to be. He doesn’t allow that to show in his face, though, as he leans close, his eyes icy, his voice low and menacing. “Listen carefully, Potter, because I will only say this once. If you _ever_ hurt Remus like that again, I will personally rip your heart from your chest and go back to Azkaban _happy_ for it. He cared for you as the son of a dear friend, he sacrificed for you time and again, he gave three years of his life to infiltrating the werewolves so you could have longer before you had to face the Dark Lord, and he is finally _happy_. You. Will. Not. Fuck. That. Up.”

Potter’s eyes are wide by the time Severus ends his speech. The Healers have noticed something wrong and two burly men are headed this way to deal with the disturbance. Severus doesn’t care. He holds Potter’s gaze for a long moment, then releases the front of the younger man’s robes and allows him to step away from the wall. Without another look, he turns on his heel and strides away.

**.:.**

Remus is sitting in the windowseat, staring blankly out at the garden. As is rarely the case, he looks old, his forehead creased, his shoulders slumped. Severus feels another jolt of anger at Potter. It isn’t right that a second generation of Potters can rule Remus’ happiness.

Remus doesn’t give any sign of having noticed him, but he knows it is impossible to sneak up on a werewolf. He crosses the room in silence and places a hand carefully on Remus’ shoulder. They are frozen like that for a long instant, and then Remus turns, sliding off the windowseat and burying his face against Severus’ shoulder.

It is a shock to realize Remus is turning to him for comfort. It is more of a shock to realize that he has, without thought, wrapped his arms around Remus and pressed his cheek to the silvered brown hair. Remus’ shoulders shake once, twice, and then he takes a deep breath and lets it out. Slowly his arms creep around Severus’ waist, and he murmurs something Severus can’t hear.

_I love you_ , Severus thinks.

They stand like that for a very long time.

* * *

**Prompt:** 69 - Nemesis


	16. Return

Severus is staring at the fire while Remus talks with Healer Smethwyk. They are in the discharge lobby of St Mungo’s, and Severus is very afraid that he looks as ill as he feels.

He has sternly informed his fluttering pulse that he is looking forward to not having to make the daily journey away from his home. He has told his sweaty palms that he cares deeply for Remus—oh, all right, he loves him—and is eager to share his home. He has even gone so far as to remind his roiling stomach that there is bound to be more physical intimacy in the future now that they will have privacy.

None of these thoughts have calmed the raging queasiness or the irregular pulse, though that last did force him to shift uncomfortably and adjust his robes somewhat.

A hand closes around his own and tugs. “Sit down,” Remus says. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Severus grouses, but he sits. Remus smiles at him, which serves to melt his irritation, though it doesn’t do anything about his nerves. Severus sighs but gives him a faint smile in return.

Smethwyk gives a triumphant “Hah!” and waves a paper in front of Remus. “Here it is. Your expenses were all covered by the Ministry’s War Veteran Fund. You just need to sign here and you’re all set to go.”

Remus glances at Severus, a quick nervous glance, which makes Severus feel infinitely better. As long as he isn’t the only one with a case of nerves about this, it’s all right. Then Remus takes the quill confidently in hand and produces a signature that closely resembles the one Severus remembers from their days teaching together.

Remus takes a deep breath, his eyes closed. Severus knows this feeling. He is savouring the first moment of freedom. He waits patiently until Remus looks up and smiles again. “Well. Are we ready?”

Severus gives him a grave nod in answer and stands up, waiting as Remus stands, too. They are using the Floo because Remus’ magic still doesn’t allow him to Apparate. Not that Severus minds at all. He has already cleaned the fireplace at Spinner’s End, and had gone so far as to pay Dobby to give the house a thorough cleaning. Dobby had been, he recalls, quite taken with Wolfsbane until the kitten chomped quite ferociously on one of the house elf’s overlarge ears.

Severus turns towards the fireplace, then pauses and looks at the Healer. “Smethwyk. Your work has been acceptable, and your bedside manner commendable.” He gives a short nod, ignoring the look of surprise on Smethwyk’s face and Remus’ quiet laughter. Taking a handful of Floo powder, he throws it into the fire, says quite clearly, “Spinner’s End”, and steps into the green flames.

**.:.**

Remus stumbles when he arrives, but Severus is already waiting to catch him. Wolfsbane leaves off sunning himself on a windowsill and jumps down to trot over and greet them. He seems entirely undisturbed by the fact that the fireplace has twice belched green fire and sparks.

Still leaning into Severus’ embrace, Remus smiles and leans down, holding out a hand for Wolfsbane to sniff. The kitten licks him twice consideringly, then sinks his teeth into Remus’ finger, proving that he is truly as perverse as Severus suspected. Severus hides a smile.

“Ouch!” Remus exclaims in surprise, and scoops Wolfsbane into his hand, lifting him up to cradle against his chest. “That’s really quiet uncivilised,” he informs the cat, who yawns and settles down comfortably in his arms.

“You see what I deal with?” Severus points out, and then he urges Remus away from the fireplace to sit on the sofa. After a moment’s hesitation, Severus joins him, though he sits far enough away that they aren’t touching.

Remus lifts his gaze from the cat to stare around at a room filled with books. Severus feels suddenly naked as the other man inspects the room curiously. For the first time he wishes he had put some money into fixing up the house before inviting Remus to come here. But Remus’ gaze is curious and eager as he looks at the books that cover the walls and even one of the doors. “Have you read all of these?” Remus asks.

Surprised by the question, though he can’t say why, Severus snorts. “Of course not. Some of them are reference books, some of them my mothers’ old books. Though I have read most of them, I suppose.”

Remus tilts his head and smiles. “I look forward to exploring them,” he says. He scratches idly at Wolfsbane’s ears, and the kitten’s purr grows louder.

Severus shifts slightly and looks down at his hands, which are clasped loosely in his lap. “This is the sitting room, obviously. The kitchen is through the door just there,” he points, “and the stairs are that way.” He indicates the book-covered door. “Smethwyk told me I should have levitation spells and a cushioning charm on the stairs. If you fall, you just need to say ‘help’ and the charms will activate.”

Remus nods, looking content. “Yes, Hippocrates told me he’d given you a list of adjustments. I do hope I’m not too much trouble.”

Severus looks at him, blinking his fringe out of his eyes. “No,” he says quietly. “You aren’t too much trouble.”

Remus’ smile spreads slowly across his face and he shifts closer to Severus. “You were telling me about the house,” he says presently. “Is this where you grew up?”

Severus nods. “I sleep in the master bedroom. The other room upstairs was mine; I used it for a study, but I’ve transfigured a bed in there for you.” He watches Remus’ face closely as he says this. He enjoys the kissing and touching they have done so far, and he finds Remus extremely desirable, but he knows he isn’t terribly tempting himself. Remus may not want any further intimacy—or be ready for it.

For a moment Remus looks about to say something, then he nods. He glances around the room for a moment. “Is there a desk?” he asks finally.

“In your room? Yes.” Severus likes the way that sounds. Then he wonders what it would be like to say ‘our room’ instead. The thought makes him suck in his breath.

Remus tilts his head. “All right, Severus?”

“I…perhaps…” Severus shrugs and sighs.

Remus studies him for a few minutes, then says, “It’s past teatime. Do you usually have tea, when you’re at home?”

Severus nods stiffly.

“And after tea, what?”

“I read, generally,” Severus says.

“That sounds nice. Let’s do that,” Remus says, smiling.

“What, you just want to have tea and read?” Severus blurts before he can stop himself.

Remus’ smile widens. “Did you expect something else?”

Embarrassed, Severus stands up. “I’ll fix tea and bring it out,” he says.

Remus makes a face. “I wasn’t making fun, Severus—“ he begins, then blinks. “Well, I was, I suppose, but I didn’t mean it…well, meanly.”

Severus shrugs. “I know,” he says, though he hadn’t. It will take time to get used to having Remus tease him. “I’ll be right back.”

When he returns, bearing a tray with tea, chocolate biscuits— _and_ ginger biscuits, since Remus doesn’t seem to be extraordinarily fond of chocolate—and scones with clotted cream, Remus is up standing in front of the bookcase-covered door, hands clasped behind his back, studying the collection of books.

“I didn’t figure you for a fan of Muggle literature,” he says, turning slowly to smile at Severus.

Severus sniffs. “Muggle literature, Wizarding literature—those are merely ridiculous labels. It’s all literature. If it’s good, it’s good, if it’s bad, it’s bad. Besides, the Muggles have a better handle on philosophy than we do.” He flicks his wand at the fire, which begins blazing and crackling comfortingly.

Remus smiles and limps back to settle next to Severus on the sofa. “I suppose you’re right,” he says, reaching for a scone, “though I’d never thought of it that way.”

It’s pleasing to think he’s somehow made Remus rethink something. Probably, he reflects, because so often it is the other way around. He pours them both tea, remembering to add sugar to Remus’.

They have their tea and talk of inconsequential things as the fire banishes the chill of the house, and then Remus wanders to the bookcase to select a thin volume bound in red leather—Severus can’t see what it is, but it is from the history section, oddly. Severus makes a noise of surprise. “Are you really just going to sit there and read?”

Remus grins at him. “I’m perfectly fine with that,” he says. “After all, it’s much like my own routine. If you’d prefer to do something different, or if you’d prefer I go upstairs, just tell me.”

Severus frowns at him for a time, but finally shakes his head. “No, I…I think it’s pleasant to have you here.” He picks up _Crime and Punishment_ and attempts to lose himself in the novel, but he can’t ignore the sound of Remus’ breathing, the way he winces sometimes when he shifts, the occasional rasp of a finger against a page.

Finally Severus lowers his book and glances at Remus. Remus is watching him. Severus feels his face heat, but doesn’t look away—and a moment later he’s glad, because Remus has coloured, too.

“You could read to me, if you’d like,” Remus offers finally, his voice a whisper.

Severus considers this for approximately half a minute before he nods. Reading aloud will give him occupation, keep him focused on the words, rather than allowing his thoughts to stray to the man who is sitting near him, but who seems suddenly worlds away.

Severus draws a breath and begins where he is.

‘"If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake. That will be his punishment--as well as the prison."

’"But the real geniuses," asked Razumihin frowning, "those who have the right to murder? Oughtn't they to suffer at all even for the blood they've shed?"

’"Why the word _ought_? It's not a matter of permission or prohibition. He will suffer if he is sorry for his victim. Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth," he added dreamily, not in the tone of the conversation….’

 

When Severus’ throat is dry, he looks up and sees that Remus has fallen into a doze, his head at an awkward angle. Severus closes the book softly and then shifts closer. He moves Remus gently into his arms, leaning his head against Severus’ shoulder instead of the back of the sofa. This, he reflects, this moment, this situation, is so impossible and so right that his nervousness can’t stand in its face. He must simply surrender to the happiness, even if it means he will be hurt more deeply if this all falls apart. He brushes his lips across soft hair and gazes at the fading fire, smiling. He has had great sadness, much of it brought upon himself, as he well knows. But finally, he thinks, finally he also has great happiness.

* * *

**Prompt:** 83 - Fire


	17. Rematch

The first time Remus climbs the stairs to go to bed, Severus has to restrain himself from insisting on helping, once his initial offer is declined. “Nonsense,” Remus says, waving Severus off with a smile. “I know you like to stay up late. Go on with your nightly routine. I’m just a bit tired after the long day, that’s all.” He moves slowly around the back of the sofa, then pauses behind Severus. There is a small silence, then Severus feels Remus’ lips against his cheek.

“Good night,” Remus whispers. “Sweet dreams.”

Severus is too afraid to turn his head, but he does lift a hand and thread fingers into soft hair. “Good night,” he murmurs. He hears the stairs creak as Remus climbs slowly up to bed. Severus stares at the fire thinking of very little for a long time before turning his attention back to his book.

 

He must be getting used to Remus; he isn’t at all surprised to find a folded parchment with his name on it, resting on his pillow.

_Dear Severus,_

_I want you to know that I understand that this adjustment is going to take time. I am willing to take things at whatever pace you choose. We are forty-two years old, and for me at least it has been twenty-two years since I shared my life with anyone in this fashion. In fact I have no idea how one goes about having a “normal” relationship, so I shall simply muddle along and hope you will have patience with me._

_I want you to know I’m in this for the duration. I am committed to building a life with you. I hope that’s what you want. We can talk about this in the morning, if you want. Or we don’t have to._

_Thank you for finding room for me in your life._

_Yours,_

_Remus_

 

Severus swallows hard and traces his fingers over the words. Finally he sets it back down on his pillow and changes into his pyjamas. Then he creeps across the chilly, creaky floor to Remus’ room. He doesn’t knock.

The room is dark. Remus is breathing evenly, and Severus stops, disappointed, and listens for several heartbeats. Then Remus takes a long slow breath and speaks in a husky tone.

“Severus, come to bed.”

 

**.:.**

 

When Severus wakes up, he has something heavy pinning his right arm, which is asleep. He shifts, then realizes the light is coming in at the wrong angle. Odd—he’s fallen asleep in the east bedroom...

And that’s when he remembers last night. His heart gives a funny jump, then settles into an anxious pounding. Last night—sliding under the covers and lying rigidly next to Remus…Remus’ sleepy chuckle that melted Severus’ heart…the shift of covers as Remus fit himself against Severus’ side, snuggling against him…the feeling of rightness as Severus closed his arms around him and closed his eyes.

And then waking up in the middle of the night to Remus’ whimpers, stroking a hand awkwardly down his back until the other man fell silent and breathed evenly again, still asleep…fighting sleep because he’s always suspected he snores, though he’s never trusted any of his few casual lovers enough to let them sleep next to him…waking up with an aching erection and wanting to die of embarrassment.

“Are you done panicking?” Remus asks. His voice isn’t amused, which is what saves him from being hexed.

Severus clears his throat. “How did you sleep?” he asks, not turning his head to look at Remus. His mouth tastes like something died in it, which doesn’t bode well for the quality of his breath.

Remus nuzzles him. “All right. You?”

“All right,” Severus lies.

Remus laughs. “I’m lying. I had nightmares. But they went away after a bit.”

Severus unbends slightly and sighs. “I couldn’t relax,” he admits. “Did…did I snore?”

Remus shifts onto his side and wraps an arm around Severus’ waist. “Just a bit. It didn’t bother me. Did I kick?”

Severus shrugs and covers Remus’ arm with his own. “Just a bit.”

Remus presses his face against Severus’ neck. Severus can feel his smile against his skin. _I love this man,_ he thinks. He swallows hard against the tightness in his throat.

Presently Remus shifts again. “The Falcons have a match against Appleby today, don’t they?” he asks.

Severus is surprised by the switch in subjects, but he makes an affirmative noise. He appreciates that Remus has taken the time to learn such a simple thing as the fact that Severus supports the Falmouth Falcons, and that Remus, having no particular Quidditch team himself, has chosen to support them himself. It also strikes Severus as a poor way to pick a team—he himself prefers to choose a determined team with a strong central mission—but if Remus wishes to let emotion be his guide in choosing a team, far be it from Severus to argue. Particularly since Remus is going to support _his_ team.

Remus nods and pulls away enough to kiss Severus softly. “I wondered…would you like to listen to the game on the wireless? I noticed there’s one in here.”

Severus blinks at him for a moment. “All right.”

Remus gives him a grin that makes him glad he agreed. “Right. Stay here.” He leans close and kisses Severus again, just a mere brushing of lips against Severus’. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Severus frowns slightly in confusion, but Remus shakes his head, still grinning, and climbs out of bed. He’s wearing only a pair of pyjama bottoms, and Severus admires the lean muscles of his back. This is, he realizes, the most of Remus he’s seen. There is a long silvery scar that runs down Remus’ lower back, to the right of center, disappearing into his trousers. It entrances Severus, and he makes an unconscious noise of disappointment as Remus pulls on a dressing gown.

Remus turns at the noise and gives Severus a rakish grin, which makes Severus’ face heat. Merlin, how embarrassing to be caught ogling. But Remus just blinks slowly at him—a gesture that reminds Severus of Wolfsbane—and moves slowly out of the room.

Severus stares at the empty doorway. It hurts him to watch Remus move like that. He remembers the easy grace the werewolf had when they were at Hogwarts together, the efficient way he’d moved when they taught together. Even worse that Severus knows how much pain Remus still fights. The pain potions are effective, but Remus uses them only when he must, despite Severus’ reassurances that when the pain is more manageable they will wean Remus off the dependency.

He is startled when Wolfsbane jumps onto the bed and creeps uncertainly across the unfamiliar down counterpane to butt his head against Severus’ chin. With a chuckle, Severus scratches under the cat’s chin with one finger. Wolfsbane begins a thunderous purr and settles down in the curve formed by his neck and shoulder.

There is no sound from the rest of the house, and Severus has just begun to wonder if he should check on Remus—which will annoy the werewolf to no end, of course—when he hears the creaking of the stairs. A tray floats into the room, laden with tea service, jam, toast, butter, and clotted cream. Severus gapes at it, trying to comprehend that Remus has just _brought him breakfast in bed_.

Remus limps in behind the tray, his cheeks slightly flushed with exertion. He takes in Severus’ expression and laughs. “You’re a sight,” he teases. He directs the tray over to the bedside table, then flicks his wand at the wireless, which clicks on. “I wanted to do something for you.”

“--And Falmouth’s starters are flying out to warm up. They’re playing with a reserve Chaser today, which will make the match more interesting for Appleby fans…” 

He slides back under the covers with Severus, which makes Wolfsbane hiss. Severus gives the kitten a reproving glare, and Wolfsbane subsides, though his little tail lashes for a few minutes. Remus smiles and rests his head against Severus’ shoulder. “I think he’s jealous.”

Severus chuckles but doesn’t say that he thinks the cat has good reason to be jealous. Sleeping next to Remus was new and awkward, but entirely worth it. Severus fully intends to sleep next to him every night that Remus will let him.

“The Arrows have a strong team this year, led by Captain Angelina Johnson. She’s put together a stringent training schedule that has paid off in a big way. Johnson, who once shared a pitch with the famous Harry Potter at Hogwarts, is a strong player and has rallied the team…”

Severus tunes out the pre-match commentary. He isn’t interested in other people’s opinions of the players or what might happen based on team and player histories. After all, the future is unpredictable. If he and Remus had followed track record, they wouldn’t be tucked into bed on a Saturday morning, listening to Quidditch on the wireless.

He glances over at Remus and his lips quirk in a smile. Remus has a glob of red jam on the corner of his mouth. Feeling unwontedly mischievous, Severus leans over and licks it off, laughing at the stunned expression on Remus’ face. But Remus recovers quickly and gives him a grin that is slightly wicked and more than slightly lascivious.

They both miss the beginning of the match.

* * *

**Prompt:** 07 - Quidditch


	18. Redefining

Severus has decided that Remus Lupin is the most maddening person he knows.

This is, of course, quite an accomplishment, considering Severus knows Harry Potter, Hermione Granger-Weasley, Molly Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, and several other people who are also high on the list of maddening people in the world. But Remus Lupin tops them all.

“Just take the bloody potion,” Severus snaps, frowning across the breakfast table at his lover. Remus is dishevelled, his brown hair tousled, his dressing gown falling off one shoulder. His teeth are clenched and Severus can read the pain in the lines of his body, the way his hands clench at each other. “There’s no reason not to take it!”

Remus lets out a long sigh and opens his eyes. “I don’t want to depend on a potion to make me feel better,” he says in a sing-song.

Severus knows Remus is tired of this routine, but so is Severus. Remus has been home less than a week, and already Severus is seeing much more clearly how the pain affects Remus. It has a grip on his body, seizing it and twisting it when he least expects it, when he most desires to be in control. It is humiliating for a man to whom pride has meant so much, and Severus truly understands Remus’ desire to do without. But Remus has already had so much pain, so much against him. He deserves happiness. He deserves to be looked after. He deserves so much more than Severus can give him, really. But Severus has determined that Remus _wants_ him, so he is not going to argue any longer against his own deserving. Now he has to convince Remus to accept what Severus has to offer.

“Why must you be so bloody stubborn?” Severus demands. “Do you not trust me to take care of you?”

Remus’ gaze is recriminating. “This is supposed to be a partnership, Severus. I don’t want anyone taking care of me!”

“But I _can_! It’s something I can do for you! Why won’t you let me?”

“I’m not helpless!” Remus snaps.

“Fine!” Severus snaps back. “Fine!” He shoves his chair away from the table and storms over to the sink, where he rinses his cereal bowl out furiously. He doesn’t know what to say to Remus, how to make him give in. It hurts Severus that Remus won’t trust him with this, but he doesn’t know how to say that, either. He keeps his back to Remus even after he’s turned off the water.

“I don’t know why I thought this would be different,” Remus says. His voice is low; Severus wonders if he was meant to hear it at all. “I thought it could be normal here.”

Severus feels like he’s been punched, but he says nothing for several heartbeats. “We’re _not_ normal, Remus,” he manages finally. He tells himself it’s the pain making Remus talk like this. He wonders if it’s regret.

Remus laughs, and the bitterness of it frightens Severus. “No, we’re not,” he says. “I shall be a cripple forever. I suppose it’s better if I remember that.”

Severus turns back to scowl at him, but it is at this point that Wolfsbane inserts his two Knuts. The kitten leaps easily from Severus’ chair onto the table, trots up to Remus, and licks his nose. Caught off-guard, the ridiculously soft-hearted werewolf melts. Wolfsbane gives a few more licks, to soften him up, then sinks his teeth in deep.

“Yeeowch!” Remus exclaims, jerking backwards and staring at Wolfsbane in affront. “I think you jinxed me, naming him that.”

Severus fishes out his handkerchief and holds it out to Remus. “You ought to have known better than to give _me_ custody of your cat, if you wanted a social, pettable creature.”

Remus dabs at the blood on his nose. “Oh, of course, blame it on me,” he says mildly.

Severus offers him a half-smile. “I think he bites when he believes you’re taking yourself too seriously.”

Remus snorts. “I have no trouble believing that.”

After pouring more tea for them both, Severus comes back to the table and sits down again. “I don’t like this sort of row,” he says after a bit. “I like arguing with you about books or Quidditch, but I don’t think words like cripple ought to be allowed.” He is worried about dissecting an argument before he’s certain it’s over, but Remus usually listens when Severus talks like this, so he tries it despite his anxiety.

And Remus rewards him. “I’d forgotten how you dislike that word, actually,” he murmurs. “But I feel like that sometimes. I don’t mind talking about it with you, but when Hermione complimented you on the panic spells you set in the staircase…” He shrugs. “I felt so bloody useless.”

“You aren’t useless,” Severus contradicts. “If you wish me not to discuss your injury with anyone—except Healer Smethwyk, of course—I shall give you my word.”

“It isn’t just that,” Remus says. “I don’t contribute here. I’m just—dead weight.”

“Don’t say that!” Severus bites out, his heart giving a terrible kick of fear. Then he sees Remus’ startled expression and wonders if there is any way to explain that statements like that make Severus fear Remus will leave him. “You make me happy, Remus.” His voice gentles and he smiles faintly. “How could that ever be useless?”

There is a long silence as they stare at one another. Severus fears he has said too much or said it too soon. Remus’ breathing is uneven.

“I...make you happy?” he asks finally. His wide golden eyes are fixed on Severus.

“Yes,” Severus replies firmly. His heart is pounding at the magnitude of the admission, but he knows there is no room for hesitation—or self-protection—here. It is what Remus apparently doesn’t realize. “Yes. You are the reason I want to get out of bed in the morning. You are the reason I enjoy potions again. You are the reason I do everything.” He swallows hard. “I want to be useful to _you_ , Remus. I want to ease your pain.”

Remus is silent again, his eyes hazing over with tears. He reaches across the table, covering Severus’ hand with his own and smiling shakily. “Yes,” he says quietly. “You do ease my pain, Severus.” He takes a deep breath. “Give me that potion.”

 

Later that morning, watching Remus sleep, Severus tries to analyze the encounter and his own feelings. Remus’ thin face is slack with the painkilling potion, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

The issue isn’t resolved, Severus knows. He’s too practical to think one discussion like this, even with the admissions he has made, will solve the problem. But he hopes it will at least make it easier next time. He will set out all the facts for Remus, how the potion will foster a dependency, how Severus knows what potions to use when Remus is ready to step down from the strongest painkillers, how Severus will be able to treat the symptoms of withdrawal...anything Remus could be wondering about. He will be patient—no, he _will_ \--and he will try to be understanding when Remus is tiresome.

Who is he kidding? This is a losing battle.

Severus sighs and gets up from his chair. He wonders if it’s a horrible mistake to fall in love with someone who has been trying his patience for the past thirty years. Most likely it is, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. Severus is doomed.

The room is full of light, and Severus wonders if that bothers Remus. He draws the curtains, then whispers a spell to darken the room further. He feels as if this is indulgent, spending the morning doing nothing other than sitting in a chair, watching Remus shift restlessly in his bed. (They have moved into Severus’ bedroom, because Severus’ bed is larger, and Remus _does_ kick in his sleep.) But how can it be indulgent, when Severus has nothing else he needs to be doing?

Eventually he finds a book on potion theory he’s been wanting to read, and a spare bit of parchment, and begins making notes towards something to keep the full moons from stealing all the progress Remus has made. It makes no sense that werewolf metabolism should be such that monthly transformations heal within a day or two, but a physical injury inflicted by another refuses to heal—even if said injury was subsequently cursed. There has to be some way to at least alleviate the damage somewhat, even if it is incapable of being completely mended.

Severus dislikes the self-loathing he sees in Remus’ eyes when he speaks of his injury. He knows it’s unlikely he’ll ever be able to do something about it, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to try.

 

Remus doesn’t wake until past time for luncheon. To Severus’ satisfaction, the muscle-relaxants he incorporated into the pain-relieving potion have worked enough that Remus is able to sit up easily, and even wobbles off to the loo without help. He is further encouraged when Remus sticks his head out and announces his intention to have a shower.

Several minutes later he abandons his research when Remus calls out a request for Severus to wash his back. He may have learnt compassion for Remus, somewhere along the way, but he is still an opportunist.

* * *

**Prompt:** 32 – Compassion


	19. Relishing

Potter has been by the house both yesterday and today, and while Severus has agreed that as long as Potter minds his Ps and Qs he is welcome here, twice in one week is a bit much. Particularly when Remus drags himself upstairs to bed shortly after Potter's second visit with barely a word to Severus.

Their relationship is costing Remus now, and Severus wonders. He wonders how Remus feels about him now, wonders how Remus feels about Potter, how Remus manages to go on smiling and making polite conversation without exploding. He wonders what he can do, but short of smacking Potter about the head with a cauldron (a very tempting thought indeed), he doesn't think there _is_ anything. If Potter won't listen to his fiancée or Hermione, there's little chance he'll listen to Severus.

Then again, Remus isn't listening to Severus on this matter, either. Severus has insisted, numerous times, that he has no desire to attend Potter's wedding, but Remus stubbornly continues to expect Harry to welcome Severus there.

It's expecting a bit much, in Severus' opinion.

He flips another page in his cookbook, trying to think about dinner, trying _not_ to think about Potter, but it's nigh on impossible to concentrate. Not even a year ago he would have expected to feel exultant that Remus was willing to forgo a friendship with Potter just to have Severus in his life. He would have been bitterly glad that Potter seemed so miserable over the situation. He would have taken every opportunity to gloat about it.

Instead he holes up in the kitchen or his cellar workshop and tries very hard to stay out of Potter's way.

"Remus!" It's a woman's tearful voice, and Severus whirls around to stare at the fireplace, which displays the head of a distraught redhead. She and Severus gawk at one another for a moment, then she clears her throat and says, "Oh. You're home, sir."

Severus raises an eyebrow. "Remus is resting, Miss Weasley." Then he considers her face for a moment before doing something that will forever surprise him. "Would you like to come through for tea?"

And to his astonishment, though her eyes widen and she stares at him for a long time, she finally nods faintly. He moves further away, and a moment later she is standing in his kitchen, and they are standing awkwardly several feet apart.

After a dreadful silence he clears his throat. "Miss Weasley. Please be seated. Do you like Darjeeling?"

“Oh! Um. Yes, actually,” she says, and awkwardly drags a chair out to perch on it. She is not a tall girl, but she’s far from frail. Yet today she seems hunched in on herself, lacking the spirit and determination that Severus has always found rather appealing—though of course he would never admit this aloud. Of course there is no question but that she is upset because of Remus and Potter’s row, but Severus wonders whether she is upset with Remus, or with Potter.

He silently hands her a cup of tea, then sits down across the table from her, watching her. It feels disturbingly strange to be sharing his table with Ginevra Weasley of all people. But for some reason—and now he sees the true danger of compassion—he sympathizes. He knows what it is to feel the gut-wrenching stab of certainty that you are losing the one person you love most in the world. Perhaps that isn’t exactly what Ginny is feeling, but it’s close enough.

She’s crying again, though she does it quietly and almost prettily. Large tears pool in her brown eyes, then roll down her nose and cheeks. Her head is bowed, her gaze fixed on the cup clasped between her hands. Severus wonders what she sees.

He is growing more uncomfortable by the moment, and he is tempted to shove away from the table and leave her when she finally sighs and looks up.

“Thank you, sir,” she says softly. “I expect you know why I’m here.”

Severus hesitates. He knows the person who has prompted it, but he is completely at a loss as to what she expects to accomplish by being here. “I have an idea,” he agrees finally.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know why he won’t listen to reason. It’s such a small matter, in the scheme of things, but I know it would mean so much to them both. But neither of them will budge, and he’s just bloody impossible to talk to!”

Severus frowns. “Are we talking about Potter or Remus?” he asks finally.

Ginny stares at him for a moment, her eyes wide; then she laughs unexpectedly. “Harry, of course. Though of course Remus is being quite stubborn about you, too.” She leans forward in her chair, an earnest schoolgirl again in his mind’s eye. “I wasn’t certain, you know, when this first started. But Hermione seemed so complacently happy with it that I reckoned she must know more than she let on.”

Shifting slightly, Severus realizes he is betraying his discomfort and forces himself to stop. “Hermione is damnably clever,” he says sharply.

Ginny nods. “She is at that. Half the time I want to hug her for it, and the other half I want to hex her. But I can’t complain too much, seeing what she’s done for Ron.”

Severus thinks back to the one of the last times he saw Ron Weasley. Covered in blood, his freckles standing out livid against his too-pale skin, his left wrist ending in an ichor-covered stump. He remembers thinking that Weasley wouldn’t make it through the night as Severus carried him on his back—not daring to use magic, since the wards had been quite complex—nearly a mile before he could Apparate with him. He remembers the involuntary, nearly constant groans, and his own muttered words, meant to comfort, to cajole, to coerce Weasley into hanging on just a bit longer.

It had been a nightmare journey, and he dreams of it sometimes still. He wonders, suddenly, as he never had before, if Ron also dreamed of it.

Ginny has been watching him, and she gives a small nod, though Severus can’t read it. “I want to be married, Snape. I want to walk down the aisle towards Harry and see his face light up, and make my promise to him that we’ll be together forever. I want to really start this new life with him. And I can’t do that as long as this stupid bloody-mindedness continues.”

“You could be married without Remus,” Severus observes idly.

“No, I couldn’t. He’s the nearest thing Harry has left to family, outside of mine, that is. I’m not going to take him away. Harry’s lost too much in his life.”

Severus nods slowly. “Then Remus must be convinced I am unable to attend--“ He holds up a hand as Ginny looks about to interrupt—“for reasons of my own, and not of Potter’s making.” 

Her mouth closes again with an audible click, then a devious little smile spreads across her face. Yes, she shares a great deal in common with her twin brothers. “Very well.”

“I would simply pay a visit to your brothers’ deplorable store, but Remus would have to be first convinced that I am welcome at the wedding, and as unlikely as that seems, we will have to achieve it somehow.” Severus taps a finger against his lower lip. This is the sort of thing he’d been so good at in the war. It ought to come naturally to him now. But a war of manners and sitting rooms is more easily won when you are trying to hurt the other person, not when you are trying to keep someone from being hurt.

Ginny is staring at him. Severus scowls at her and she takes a hasty sip of her tea. “Well, we still have almost two months to think of something,” she says. “But we’re going to have to get Remus fitted for dress robes soon. You know how long it takes to get all these things arranged.”

No, he doesn’t know, and it is rather an absurd thing to say to him, of all people. But he doesn’t point that out, preoccupied as he is with the possibilities; he merely nods.

They sit in silence for some time, until he realizes she is watching him think again. “I’m afraid I’m poor company, Miss Weasley,” he says finally. “You were expecting Remus, after all. Perhaps you should call round tomorrow. Provided Potter doesn’t show up to make a nuisance of himself _again_ this week, Remus should be in better condition for a visitor.”

She tilts her head slightly. “You really care about him, don’t you,” she says. It isn’t a question, or if it is, it is an entirely stupid one, so Severus doesn’t bother answering—not that she gives him any chance to answer. “I’m glad,” she says, as if he needs her blessing. “Remus deserves some happiness in his life, and I daresay you do, too. Harry says you two were together at school. I suppose it makes sense.”

He looks at her in surprise. It makes _no_ sense whatsoever, and he is surprised she can’t see that. But she shrugs and gives him a grin that reminds him strongly of her brother Bill, who had been one of the most annoying students Severus had ever taught—worse than any of the other Weasleys, because he was so bloody _clever_ in Potions, and yet he was so damned _cheeky_. “Oh, go _on_ , Miss Weasley. You know I don’t like people.” He frowns at her and makes a shooing gesture.

Her laughter rings behind her long after the green flare of the fireplace has faded.

 

Severus doesn’t go upstairs until teatime, when he takes a cup of tea and some ginger biscuits to Remus. He doesn’t know whether to expect Remus to be asleep or merely depressed. He determines that if it is depression, he will disrupt it, but if Remus is sleeping, he’ll sneak back out and take his tea alone.

That resolve lasts until he sees Remus curled on his side, one arm outflung across the side of the bed that is Severus’. Severus sinks onto the side of the bed, tracing a finger along Remus’ cheek. He’s going to lose Remus if Potter does not cease being an ass about this. His throat feels tight with the knowledge, and it is all he can do not to whisper his secrets to Remus, confessing that he will leave him rather than destroy Remus’ ties to Potter. He hates Potter, _loathes_ him with every inch of his being, and it is only partly because of who Potter is. Mostly he hates Potter now because Potter is causing Severus to feel sorry for himself, which emotion he has not allowed himself for twenty years. Not even after killing Dumbledore did Severus indulge in self-pity—self-pity was a chink in the armour, and any chink in the Dark armour Severus had drawn about himself in those days would have meant his death.

But now—now there is nothing to lose, nothing except the fragile peace he has achieved with Remus, and self-pity is not what could destroy that.

“Severus, why don’t you just lie down so I can put my arms around you?” Remus asks, his voice quite clear, though his eyes are closed.

Severus starts and draws his hand back, and Remus groans softly. “Oh, don’t do that. Please, just hold me. I so need that tonight.”

Severus sighs and joins Remus on the bed, putting his arms loosely about the other man. He is gratified when Remus snuggles close to him and tucks his head under Severus’ chin. It is a position that makes Severus feel strong, as if he is protecting Remus. He moves to brush a kiss against Remus’ hair, then fits himself against Remus again.

“I know you think I’m being ridiculous and bloody-minded,” Remus begins. Severus moves one hand to place a finger against Remus’ lips. They’ve argued enough about this.

“Don’t,” Severus says softly. “We disagree about this. It’s all right.”

Remus sighs and slides an arm around Severus’ waist. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Severus just hums and closes his eyes. He is not a comforting person; it is extremely gratifying that Remus seems to draw comfort from him anyway. In his arms, Remus’ body relaxes, his breathing evens out, he sleeps.

“I love you,” Severus breathes, so softly even he is uncertain whether he has actually spoken aloud.

Remus’ only answer is a quiet, happy sigh.

* * *

**Prompt:** 41 - Days


	20. Recognition

The first time Severus has to leave Remus alone for a lengthy period, he frets the whole time. It’s ridiculous; he knows this. It’s been over a fortnight since Remus left St Mungo’s and he’s obviously gaining mobility every day--climbing the stairs with more ease; levitating his writing desk steadily; even, on one notable morning, hexing the alarm clock to spurt little globes of light rather than making any noise. (That last one, Remus had admitted sheepishly, was a mistake; he’d meant to destroy it, but something in him had been reluctant to destroy something which belonged to Severus. Severus called it “cute” in a tone of voice that made it clear in no uncertain terms that “cute” was _not_ a compliment. Nevertheless, Severus hasn’t changed it back.)

Potter hasn’t been to visit for over a week, for which fact Severus is extremely grateful. Remus has seemed happier, more open, in the last few days. Severus has finished _Crime and Punishment_ and has gone on to _Persuasion_ , which makes Remus laugh and demand that the entire book be read aloud. This reaction makes Severus wonder if he ought to be ashamed of reading Jane Austen, but Remus is adamant, and Severus finds it difficult to refuse. He settles for threatening to hex Remus if he tells Minerva what they are reading—and is rewarded by finding the book lying open on his chair just after Minerva has Disapparated following Tuesday afternoon tea.

But today is Thursday, and the full moon is less than two weeks away. An unfortunate loss of control in the pantry, which Remus stubbornly attributes to his frustration at the lack of ginger biscuits (Severus suspects otherwise), has resulted in several broken flasks of Wolfsbane potion, and Severus is out of several essential ingredients. With a sigh and an admonishment to stay out of his cellar lab, Severus has been forced to abandon Remus in order to make a trip to Knockturn Alley.

When he Apparates home, he carries his supplies directly to the laboratory. Pinned to the door is a note:

_My idea of good company is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company._

Severus blinks at it for a moment, trying to place the quotation, but it is Austen, of course. He spends a few minutes putting the potion ingredients away, then realizes the house seems unnaturally quiet. He frowns. It’s only half-seven; surely Remus can’t have gone to bed yet. He goes up the stairs, paying more attention to his surroundings this time.

There is a note on the kitchen table:

_Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing: but the age of emotion she certainly had not._

Why is the kitchen empty? Did Remus not bother with tea? Severus inspects the cooktop and decides that Remus has at least brewed tea and cooked something for dinner. He isn’t entirely certain whether he should be alarmed or relieved. It is early days yet for Remus to be cooking while alone in the house; his hands are still shaky, as the incident with the Wolfsbane has proved, and though his magic is increasingly steady, his reaction time is still rather slower than it used to be.

“Remus?” Severus calls, striding into the sitting room.

The books line the walls serenely. The front door is latched and bolted, the wards intact. The door to the stairway is closed. The fire is banked; a few candles, held under stasis spells, provide the only light. His alarm growing, Severus goes up the stairs and turns to peer into Remus’ bedroom. The only use this room ever sees is at the writing desk. Severus crosses the room, withdrawing from his pocket the bottle of ink he has purchased as a small gift. It is green ink, and _not_ spelled to be spill-proof, which Severus thinks, obscurely, will please Remus.

There is another note on the desk.

_[He] had been forced into prudence in [his] youth, [he] learned romance as [he] grew older – the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning._

Severus smiles at the brackets—Remus will always be precise, correct. But Severus’ heart is beating faster.

Romance, Remus has written. Romance. There has been precious little time for romance since Remus came home. Comfort, stability, emotional intimacy, even. But romance? Severus’ mouth has gone dry. He wants romance. He wants to feel desired. He wants to make Remus feel desired—feel special. He thinks for a moment. Treasured.

“Remus?” he says softly. He is almost afraid to let Remus hear him, lest the strange mood, created so simply by a few words penned on scraps of parchment, be destroyed.

The door to their bedroom is closed. Severus snatches the last parchment from where it is pinned, eager to read this final quotation.

_…all, all declared that he had a heart returning to [him] at least; that anger, resentment, avoidance, were no more; and that they were succeeded, not merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of the past; yes, some share of the tenderness of the past. [He] could not contemplate the change as implying less—he must love [him]._

Severus stares at this note for a long time. Tenderness of the past. It is true that they were nearly friends, before Black attempted to feed Severus to his pet werewolf and Potter saved his life. But there are so many years between that and this, so many bitter things—his forcing Remus to resign, his murder of Dumbledore, Remus’ injury and Severus’ trial—but perhaps it is this past that has brought them back together. Perhaps it is because of the past, because of the old hurts as well as the old attraction, that they are here today.

He knocks softly on the door.

Remus’ voice is hoarse and low. “Come in.”

Severus pushes the door open, his movements slow and almost nervous. “I was worried,” he begins, and then realizes there is no need to worry. There is no need to think much at all.

The room is lit with the glow of candlelight. Dozens of candles float around them, flickering off the reflective surfaces in the room, glinting in Remus’ eyes. Severus catches his breath.

“I missed you,” Remus says, a quirk of mischief to the corners of his mouth. But the heat in his eyes sends warmth flooding through Severus and pooling low in his belly.

“You’re beautiful,” Severus blurts, and then feels stupid. But from the way Remus’ face lights up, this must have been the right thing to say.

“Come over here,” Remus orders, and Severus can do nothing but obey.

Remus is lying on the bed, wearing a pair of jeans, his shirt open in front. Severus slithers onto the bed and leans over him, resting his weight on his elbows. Remus smiles up at him and then leans up and their mouths meet, kissing and licking and even biting gently, teeth clicking quietly against each other in their desperation. Severus groans against Remus’ mouth and hopes Remus is feeling strong today, because there have already been two occasions when Severus _thought_ this was going to happen-- _thought_ , and then had to desist because of Remus’ low energy levels. But now—

“Merlin, Severus, I want you!” Remus gasps, and Severus can only nod and groan in agreement.

Remus’ hands are working at Severus’ clothes, twisting buttons, tugging at hems, and soon Severus is wearing less than Remus, pressing kisses to Remus’ throat and chest, running his hands up and down Remus’ sides. “Remus,” he murmurs, “so perfect, so wonderful.” He wonders if he will have the courage to say what must be said.

Remus lifts a hand to cup Severus’ cheek; Severus’ notices the second finger is stained with deep red ink. He kisses the palm. “Let me,” Severus whispers, stroking his fingertips at Remus’ hips, and Remus nods.

 

Afterwards, lying together in sated splendour, Severus wonders if things will really change now. Somehow he doubts that they will.

Remus dozes for some time, but wakes up when the waxing gibbous moon rises. He shifts in Severus’ arms, then stretches. “I have some things I need to say,” he whispers.

Severus shakes his head. “You don’t, if you don’t want.”

“I do want. I want to be with you always. I want to know what makes you laugh and what makes you scowl. I want to know when you get sad and learn how to cheer you up. I want to be here for your every moment.”

Severus waits for a moment, thinking about the choices that have led him here. “I want the same,” he says softly. “I will love you all of my days. I will honour you all of my life.”

“I swear that I am yours,” Remus replies.

Severus smiles and kisses him again.

* * *

**Prompt:** 71 – Vows


	21. Remembering

Remus grunts and shifts. Again. Severus looks guiltily from his book. “Is my light bothering you?”

“No.” Remus’ voice is somewhat cross, and Severus stares at his shoulder, awaiting an explanation. “After all, I did ask you to keep me company,” he points out. After a long moment, Remus sighs. 

“I know.” Severus closes his book. “So what _is_ keeping you awake?”

Remus grunts and shifts again, and Severus automatically smoothes a hand down his lover’s back. He has learned that Remus likes having his back stroked, as one would soothe a child (Severus, as Head of Slytherin House, unfortunately has more experience with soothing ickle first years than he would like to recall). Remus also likes to sleep with his back curled against Severus. Severus finds this endearing.

“It’s my hip,” Remus admits after yet another position has failed to offer relief.

Severus makes a noise of acknowledgement and nudges Remus gently to get him to roll onto his stomach. Remus has had trouble with his sciatic nerve off and on for the past fortnight. Smethwyk seems to think it is normal and will pass. Remus, ever (oddly) the pessimist where his health is concerned, imagines it is the first sign of what will become chronic nerve degeneration.

“Budge up a bit,” Severus murmurs, sliding a hand down to press his knuckles into Remus’ left buttock. Remus sighs and Severus feels his body tense and then relax slightly as the sharp press of knuckles replaces the inexorable pervasive ache. “Better?”

Remus nods, giving another deep sigh. Safe from his gaze, Severus frowns. It isn’t better, not in his mind. They ought to be able to heal Remus, not just alleviate his pain.

After a few minutes Remus shifts, and Severus presses with the heel of his hand, kneading firmly. Remus jerks when Severus’ presses the nerve too sharply; Severus eases up a bit, then goes at it again. It hurts Remus, but it will eventually make the nerve relax enough to give him relief.

“I hurt you last night,” he murmurs finally. There can’t be any other reason for the severity of the pain tonight.

“You were perfect.” Remus’ voice is so low and muffled that Severus barely hears the contradiction.

“We shouldn’t have had sex,” Severus says. He is embarrassed, though he isn’t certain why.

“If you hadn’t made love to me last night, I would be dealing with far worse pain. Albeit emotional.”

“You need your head looked at,” Severus says, though there is no malice in his voice. “Please don’t tell me you like such an insipid euphemism.”

Remus shifts. “A bit higher—there. No, not usually. But last night that’s what it was. It was perfect.” Severus humphs but Remus doesn’t let him protest. “No, it was. The way you touched me, the trail of your lips down my back…Mmm. I haven’t enjoyed this body in months, Severus. You gave me my own body back, made me feel at home in it for the first time since Fenrir.”

Severus doesn’t know why this makes his chest ache, but he swallows hard and leans down to press his lips against the back of Remus’ neck. “I love you,” he whispers.

Remus smiles and hums happily. “I’m so glad, because I’m desperately in love with you.”

Severus shakes his head. “You’re daft.”

Remus laughs, and Severus feels as if he has won a great victory. He goes back to work on Remus’ taut muscles and pinched nerves, and it isn’t long, in the grand scheme of things, before he feels his lover’s muscles relaxing in drowsiness. He goes back to stroking Remus’ back until Remus is asleep. Then, shocked and almost afraid of how happy he feels, he puts out the light, banishes his book, and wraps his arm around Remus.

He is surprised at how easy it is to tell Remus he loves him. Perhaps it is easy simply because of the way Remus’ eyes light up when he hears those words. Severus _likes_ Remus’ smile. He would do just about anything to cause it more often. Severus brushes his lips over Remus’ bare shoulder. (Remus has been sleeping in only his pyjama bottoms for two nights; he says it’s because the approaching full moon speeds his metabolism and makes him warm. It’s true his skin feels warm to the touch, but then it always does, to Severus.)

Severus is proud that he doesn’t jump when something settles against the back of his neck and begins purring a moment later. _Wretched cat_ , Severus thinks. For a moment he struggles with feeling trapped between werewolf and cat; he can’t move now without disturbing one or the other. Finally he reaches one hand back over his head to prod at the kitten. Wolfsbane hisses at him but only licks his hand and then shifts to stretch out along the top of his head. _Oh, bloody hell_ , Severus thinks, and gives in. If he’s to be trapped, this is the best possible way.

 

He dreams of Azkaban.

The moonlight comes in a thin beam through the narrow slit that serves as a window. The air is dank and musty, smelling of sweat, unwashed bodies, and madness. The stone walls are thick but he can still hear the shrieks and cackles from other cells. This is the section reserved for Death Eaters and murderers, and Severus is both.

He paces, not looking up from the stone floor as the moonlight cuts across his eyes. Three paces, turn. Three paces, turn. Three paces-- _Killer! Potter screams, his expression twisted. Coward!_ \--three steps, turn-- _Severus, please, Albus says calmly. Only you can do this for me._ \--Three steps, turn. Three steps, turn. Three steps-- _I will do what I can, Minerva says heavily. But it does not look good_ \--

The ground shakes then, the cell doors rattling and clanging open. Severus wonders if an angel will come to set him free.

“Severus!” The angel knows his name. He shifts, moaning softly.

“Severus, please wake up!”

And as those words pierce his mind, he realizes he is asleep, and he does wake up.

He is lying on his back, Remus peering anxiously into his face, the light of a wand making him flinch. “Remus…”

“You were dreaming.” Remus’ calloused fingers are gentle against his forehead. “I wasn’t certain if I should wake you or let you sleep through it, but you were making the most horrendous noises.”

Severus doesn’t answer except to turn and curl around Remus, wrapping his arms tight around him. He shivers once or twice as his body and mind both throw off the spiderwebs of nightmare.

“When I was at Azkaban,” he begins finally, his voice very low, “I decided to act as if I didn’t know any of them. But everyone knew. They knew who I was, what I’d done. Some of them threatened to kill me.” Remus’ arms tighten around him. “I wished they would,” Severus says hoarsely. “I wanted to die. Nothing was left to me.”

He expects Remus to protest, but Remus says nothing. Thinking back to a discussion they had at St Mungo’s, Severus thinks he understands. Severus closes his eyes.

He is ashamed of the time spent in Azkaban, more than he is ashamed of any other time in his life. He had wanted to give up. Wanted to be dead. Severus had _never_ wanted to be dead, not even after killing Dumbledore had he wanted to be dead. The prison, the cells, the sea around them—all were bleak, and despair was a constant companion. Many of the inmates had given in to the despair; Draco Malfoy spent his waking hours muttering to himself, not loud enough to be understood, but loud enough to grate on Severus’ nerves. Yaxley began sobbing and moaning as soon as darkness fell, and didn’t let up until first light. The others were further away, but Severus could still hear them, screaming, shouting, swearing, weeping… Severus sighs.

“But in my darkest hours I could remind myself that I had saved you. I saved you, and you went on to kill Greyback and Mulciber when no one else could even find them.” He swallows. His throat is sore and dry. “It doesn’t begin to make up for all my sins, but at least it was something I could cling to.”

“Severus,” Remus whispers, and his lips touch Severus’.

Somehow, it is enough. Severus relaxes slightly, able to open his eyes.

“It was a war,” Remus says finally. “You did what you had to do.”

Severus’ mouth twists wryly. “Funny, isn’t it, how it’s so much easier to forgive other people than to forgive ourselves.” His tone doesn’t suggest that he thinks it is funny.

Remus nuzzles his neck softly. “I will always forgive you,” he whispers.

Severus thinks this ought to make him nervous or, barring that, mistrustful. But instead he finds himself relaxing into Remus’ embrace. Finally he falls asleep again.

* * *

**Prompt:** 74 - Azkaban


	22. Refrain

Severus has been in the cellar leaning over steaming cauldrons for nearly six hours when he hears the noise. At first he ignores it, because sometimes ignoring something gives it a chance to go away before he has to lose his temper. When this brilliant strategy fails, he stomps up the stairs. As soon as he opens the door to the kitchen he realizes he has made a mistake.

Potter is here. And he and Remus are exploring Severus’ record album collection at top volume.

He sees Potter’s expression sour, but it’s too late to change tacks now. “Turn that down!” he snaps. “Some of us are trying to work!”

Potter snarls, but Remus just looks amused. “Them? The Clash? The Pogues? Rather angry, some of these, Severus.”

Severus sighs and unbristles slightly. “Didn’t you spend most of the Eighties being angry?” He sees Potter’s expression turn to disbelief, but ignores it. “I _am_ brewing, Remus. Wolfsbane, among other things. Couldn’t you turn it down a bit?”

“Of course.” Remus flicks his wand and the volume drops. He looks annoyingly amused.

“Thank you,” Severus bites out, and stomps back downstairs.

A side and a half of thumping bass and driving percussion later, the door at the top of the stairs opens.

“You can come back,” Remus says cheerily. “He’s gone.”

Relieved, Severus traipses upstairs. “What possessed you?” he mutters, going for the biscuits sitting on a tray on the coffee table.

“Harry saw the LP collection and thought it was mine,” Remus says, smiling placidly. “I thought it might help him see you are, actually, human.”

Severus snorts. “Good luck.”

Remus’ grin turns wicked. “Actually I think he was rather impressed to find you’re a fan of punk.”

“ _Irish_ punk,” Severus corrects sourly. To be entirely fair, he had rather liked Joy Division, which didn’t count as Irish punk, but he isn’t interested in being fair, since Remus has been sharing his record collection with his nemesis. He pours them both some tea and carries it to the table. At least Remus hasn’t gone upstairs directly after Potter’s departure this time.

Remus laughs. “Do you remember the time you and Regulus ran into me and my mates at that dance club?”

Severus snorts. “How could I possibly forget, Lupin? You gave me a black eye.” But his tone is affectionate, where only a year ago it would have been bitter.

Remus shakes his head. “Yes, well, Regulus did for me, didn’t he? Sirius was _so_ angry.”

“Probably not our smartest move, getting in his way like that,” Severus admits. He is finding it strangely—and almost alarmingly—easy to admit these things now. Now that he and Remus are the only ones left, now that there is nothing to be lost by letting go of the bitterness.

Remus grins. “I remember thinking how well your trousers fit you, and wishing I’d had the chance to ask you to dance.”

Severus snorts. “I wouldn’t have.”

“Hmm.” Remus doesn’t sound convinced.

Severus glares at him. “I don’t dance.”

“Ah,” says Remus, regretfully.

 

**.:.**

 

Severus had believed the subject closed, but the next day, two days before full moon, Remus fidgets ceaselessly and spills his tea twice.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Severus finally demands in exasperation.

“Oh.” Remus looks guiltily at him. “I have a lot of restless energy as the full approaches.” He makes a face and shrugs. “It can be hard to contain.”

“Channel it, then,” Severus grits, glaring. He is trying to concentrate on a potions journal, and Remus’ twitchy behaviour isn’t helping.

Remus sighs, then limps across the room and switches on the wireless. Music floods the room like the tide rolling in, the volume low, just enough to invade the mind and make Severus tap his fingers against the arm of his chair. He lowers his journal slightly to watch Remus swaying slightly at the window. He hates seeing the effects of Remus’ injury like this. The grey in Remus’ hair makes him look distinguished, but when he is limping and tired, when his shoulders slump, when Severus can see the lines of exhaustion in his face, the grey seems like the ultimate slap in the face—the ultimate reminder that Remus is aging faster than he is, that life has been too harsh for both of them. Remus isn’t truly old, is barely middle-aged, in fact, as far as wizards reckon life spans—but though Severus is not a handsome man, he still looks much younger than Remus does.

Sudden guilt hits him, making him testy. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” he mutters. No one else would have heard him, but Remus’ expression falls and he turns back to the window. One of the disadvantages of having a werewolf lover—there is no such thing as muttering under one’s breath.

Severus sighs and sets his journal down. What matter is _Chinese Potioners Quarterly_ if Remus is unhappy? It occurs to him that perhaps he is being a bit pathetic, but he dismisses the thought. He shows Remus tenderness because he _chooses_ to; how could that be pathetic?

He moves up close behind Remus and puts his hands on the thin, slumped shoulders, drawing Remus back to lean against him. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean it to hurt you. I just…I don’t dance.”

Remus tilts his head sideways and looks at him. Severus fights not to make a face at him. The werewolf is ridiculously endearing. Severus suspects he does it on purpose. Somehow.

“I love you, Severus,” Remus whispers, and Severus’ heart melts.

There is really no response to that, other than the obvious, so Severus kisses him and chooses not to object when Remus begins swaying, ever so slightly, against him, in time with the rhythm of the music.

* * *

**Prompt:** 52 – Dance


	23. Reformation

Severus used to begrudge Damocles Belby his Order of Merlin. It should have been his, after all. He’d begun experimenting with potions to control werewolves during his sixth year at Hogwarts. Furious with the ineffectualness of his own spells in the face of a fully-grown werewolf, Severus had been the one who’d thought of using Monkshood—though admittedly, his idea had been to put powdered aconite in Lupin’s porridge the week after the attack. (That had landed him a month’s detention with McGonagall and ten feet of writing _I will not poison my fellow students regardless of my personal prejudices and ignorance_. It had also had the incredibly satisfying effect of making Lupin turn greenish-white and fall over, wheezing, and the memory of that sight had sustained Severus through all ten feet of lines.)

Severus is ashamed of these memories now. He smoothes his fingertips over the long white scar on Remus’ chest—the lasting reminder of a boy who tried to use _Sectumsempra_ on a werewolf. Remus is lying still, his gaze on Severus’ face. They are both silent; what use are words at this moment?

He can feel tremors go through Remus’ body; each time a wave of pain hits him, he tenses in Severus’ arms. In his mind, Severus has gone a dozen times through a list of potions for relaxing muscles, easing pain, bringing sleep. Remus will take none of them, has already said as much, but it eases Severus’ mind to think of them. Afterwards, when Remus’ body as well as his mind is human again, he will allow himself the luxury of narcotics. But until then, Severus is powerless to ease Remus’ suffering.

He is brimming with impotent anger, his body tense with it. He wants to pace, to rant, to break something. Remus’ calm acceptance does nothing to allay his anger; rather, it inflames it. Remus shouldn’t _have_ to simply accept this! They are wizards! They should be able to cure lycanthropy. Instead all they have is a potion invented by Damocles Belby—a wizard Severus _taught_ , by Merlin!—and a door with silver hinges and locks.

“You should wait outside,” Remus whispers. His eyes are closed now, but Severus hasn’t forgotten the weariness in them.

“I’m staying here.”

“It’s ugly,” Remus says. Severus wonders if his eyes are closed because he is ashamed.

“I told you, I’m staying here.”

“As you wish.”

Severus can’t tell what Remus wishes, and Remus doesn’t seem inclined to inform him, unless his advice to wait outside for his own good is actually a request for Severus to go. Unsure, and unwilling to ask, Severus clings to his stubbornness.

The first spasm is not gentle. It frightens Severus with its intensity as he watches it crawl up Remus’ spine and make him curl double, clutching at his abdomen. Severus shifts away slightly, giving Remus room to flail, but he doesn’t leave the bed. He has shared this bed with Remus for nearly a month now, and he is unwilling to have it taken away by this curse. Remus is gasping and groaning, and Severus wants nothing more than to cast a silencing spell so he won’t have to listen—but he is not a coward, and he refuses to run from the truth.

Remus relaxes, panting, and his hand is reaching, seeking. Severus grasps it in his own and Remus sighs. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispers, his voice sounding odd—deeper, perhaps. “You should, but I don’t want you to.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going,” Severus insists.

Remus’ golden eyes open wide and find his. “I love you.”

“Just don’t eat me.” Severus’ voice is dry.

Amazingly, Remus smiles.

 

Severus can’t sleep, even when the wolf’s head is resting on his chest and tucked under his chin (which gave Severus chills and made him threaten to have Remus neutered if he doesn’t behave. He hadn’t known until now that wolves could laugh.) The wolf’s breathing is heavy and deep and even, and Severus’ fingers are buried in his fur. He can feel paws twitching against his side as Remus dreams, and it makes him smile at the lack of dignity, so odd in Remus.

He remembers the confident way he entered the tunnel all those years ago, convinced that he could handle a werewolf. He remembers the blood-chilling moans and howls that had echoed along the earthen passage, urging him on even as it set his heart racing. He remembers the way his spells had barely slowed the wolf’s charge. He remembers Potter’s voice shouting at him, and then a very large shape darting between them. He remembers Dumbledore’s quiet displeasure, McGonagall’s shrill fury, Potter’s unwonted humility.

He curls his fingers into Remus’ ruff and breathes in the smell, slightly earthy but not unpleasant, of his lover’s fur. He spent years hating them, all of them—Potter, for taking the blame and saving his life and making Severus beholden to him; Dumbledore, for caring about the well-being of a werewolf over that of a Slytherin; McGonagall, for demanding Slughorn assign him detention for being out of bounds; Black, for luring him in; himself for falling for it. Remus, for daring to be horrified when he’d learned, later, what had happened.

The wolf twitches again in his sleep, cold nose poking into Severus’ skin.

Severus sleeps fitfully, dreaming of unpleasant things, but his nightmares are not haunted by werewolves. He wakes before the moon sets. When he gets out of bed, the wolf raises his head and whines. Struck by sudden inspiration, Severus beckons the wolf to him, a sudden hope making him feel as though he has eaten too much treacle.

The wolf drops awkwardly off the bed and limps towards him, one hind leg taking less weight than the others. Appalled, Severus drops to his knees and wraps his arms around the wolf’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He doesn’t know if Remus understands.

Cursing himself a thousand times for a fool, Severus leaves Remus stretched out on the rug and goes downstairs. He had hoped that somehow the wolf would be stronger, would be uninjured, even. He had hoped that perhaps it would lend him some insight into the nature of Remus’ disability. Instead he has accomplished nothing more than giving discomfort to the man he loves.

He makes tea and toast and places them on a tray alongside several potions, then returns upstairs. He can hear Remus’ whimpers and hopes the transformation hasn’t taken place yet, because noises like that should not come from a human.

The wolf jerks when Severus sets the tray down, but when he sinks to his knees and begins stroking the furry side, Remus puts his head back down and heaves a great sigh. “I love you,” Severus says. “I wish I could make this better.”

The transformation back ought to be ugly, watching this great monster become his lover. Instead, Severus finds himself loving Remus even more, admiring the courage Remus must have, to live with this horrible pain every month. He watches the thick pelt turn into skin, the claws retract into fingers, the muzzle flatten and broaden into Remus’ familiar face. He strokes Remus’ face and lets Remus cling tightly to his hand, and when it is over and his sweat-soaked lover is lying naked on the floor, Severus gathers him into his arms and lifts him, staggering, to the bed.

After Remus has managed to consume both tea and toast without sicking them back up, Severus strokes a hand down his back, eliciting a groan.

“Sore?” Severus asks softly, knowing he must be.

Remus nods.

“I want to try something,” Severus says, his voice hesitant. “I want to rub a decoction made with Monkshood on your joints.”

”Monkshood?” Remus mutters, his voice hoarse. “Allergic.”

“It might hurt,” Severus agrees. “But it might banish the pain faster; it’s what I use in the potion, you know.” _I’m poisoning you every month_ , is what he doesn’t say, though they both know it.

Remus’ eyes are closing. “Go ahead, if you think. Trust you.”

Severus hopes that this is not a horribly misguided idea. He places a small amount in one palm, keeping an eye on Wolfsbane, who has decided this is a good time to investigate Remus. The kitten climbs on Remus’ back and walks delicately along it, making Remus chuckle tiredly. Severus holds out the oil-coated hand to be sniffed, ready to jerk his hand away and force a bezoar down the little monster’s throat, should it get the idea to lick his poisonous fingers; the kitten gets one whiff of its namesake and backs away, sneezing.

“Shoo,” Severus says, and the kitten sits down in the middle of Remus’ back.

Rolling his eyes, Severus shifts. “I’ll try this on your shoulder. Tell me if it hurts you.”

Remus hums in what Severus takes to be agreement, and Severus drips some of the oil onto his skin. Remus hisses. “Cold. But it doesn’t hurt.”

Severus begins rubbing it in, massaging the joint carefully and wondering how long before it takes effect—or before it poisons Remus. After five minutes he stops and settles back against the headboard, watching him.

Remus opens an eye. “You didn’t have to stop,” he murmurs plaintively.

“Let’s see first if it helps.”

“The way you were rubbing me helped,” Remus retorts. “You can do that all day if you like.”

“And if I don’t like?” Severus asks idly. He doesn’t mind, actually.

“Mmph. You can at least do the other shoulder,” Remus says finally.

Severus laughs and obeys, since there is no rash popping up where the poison has touched Remus’ skin. “You’ll have to bathe very thoroughly later,” he warns. “I’d poison myself if I kissed your shoulder.”

“I may have been pants at Potions, but I did take a NEWT in Herbology. I am well aware that Monkshood is poisonous to humans as well as werewolves,” Remus says, his voice full of warmth. Severus leans down and places a kiss on the back of Remus’ neck. Wolfsbane, affronted, leaps from Remus’ back and stalks away, tail in the air.

Remus chuckles, low in his chest, and Severus has to struggle against a very strong desire to ravish him. “I’m making your cat jealous again.”

“When did he become my cat?” Severus asks, his voice mild. He wonders if Potter would be scandalized to see them together like this. His hands work their way down to Remus’ hips.

“When you named him Wolfsbane,” Remus replies, his voice contented.

“I love you,” Severus murmurs. It occurs to him that he says this more often, in fact, than Remus does. He wonders if it is his attempt to tie Remus to him and shies away from the thought even as he wonders if it will work.

“You’re very good at showing it.” Remus’ voice is languid; Severus can tell he is nearly asleep. “I love you, too.”

Severus’ hands have reached the bad leg, the knee joint that doesn’t bend quite properly, the ropy scar tissue, the ankle that is slightly fatter than the other. Remus makes a noise in his throat but doesn’t open his eyes. Severus coats his hands with more oil and works at the knee a bit more firmly. He knows it will likely have no lasting effect, but he cannot help hoping that perhaps this will ease Remus’ difficulties somewhat.

Remus’ breathing is deep and even. “Werewolves are quick healers,” Severus whispers. “A simple curse shouldn’t have done this.”

Remus lets out a slow sigh, proving he isn’t yet asleep. “I don’t know why it upsets you so,” he murmurs. “I’ll get used to it. I’ve got used to everything else life has handed me.”

“I don’t like that you’re in pain,” Severus snaps, frowning. “I don’t _want_ you to get used to it!”

Remus sighs softly and shifts over on his side, then lifts a hand to cup Severus’ cheek in his palm. “I like how fierce you are when you want to protect me,” he murmurs.

Severus bites back a sigh at what Remus leaves unspoken: that there are some things from which Severus can’t protect him—things like Potter’s stupidity and the full moon and chronic pain. “Don’t you dare give up,” he bites out, glaring at Remus. It doesn’t escape him how ironic it is for _him_ to be the one urging optimism, but then it is also unusual for Remus to be the one who is giving up, so perhaps this is as it is meant to be.

Remus’ hand slides around to curl behind his head and drew him near for a kiss. “I won’t,” he says softly. “Not as long as I have you.”

Only slightly mollified, Severus nevertheless allows Remus to kiss him into silence. He won’t speak of this hope again, but he will cling to it, guard it, protect it, as if it were a precious jewel. And when Severus has honed it, cut it, and polished it, he will bring it back out into the light for Remus to see.

* * *

**Prompt:** 65 – Full moon


	24. Recrimination

Rain is pelting against the windowpane when Severus wakes in the morning. He barely suppresses a groan; of all the days for him to have arranged a meeting with someone, it had to be today. Thunder crawls in low rumbles across the sky, and Severus rolls onto his side to bury his face against Remus’ neck. Remus makes a sleepy noise and Severus falls back asleep.

The second time he wakes it is because of the weather. He is dreaming of Azkaban when a loud crash of thunder rips through his dream and drags him into shivering wakefulness. This time Remus is snuggled up against him with comforting warmth; Severus lies there, listening to his lover’s deep, even breathing and staring at the stained ceiling, until the light bubbles have been erupting from the alarm clock for a quarter of an hour.

Wolfsbane picks his way delicately across the grey blanket and rubs against Severus’ chin once before sinking needle-sharp teeth into his nose. Dratted cat. Severus reaches up and detaches him, then sighs and climbs out of bed.

He puts on his dressing gown because the house is susceptible to early morning chill and then tucks the kitten absent-mindedly in one of the voluminous pockets. As he makes his way down the stairs he hears the thump of the delivery owl against the kitchen window. He hopes the paper isn’t soaked.

He gives Wolfsbane some food and starts brewing coffee. He is pleased to discover the _Prophet_ is charmed Impervius, so he reads it while he waits for the coffee to finish. Then, as he eats his toast and drinks his coffee (no cream, two sugars), he goes over the plan in his mind.

He is going to attempt to enlist Hermione in his plot to escape Potter’s wedding. Somehow they need to convince Remus that Severus is invited, Harry that Remus has given up his mad idea, and both of them not to discuss it. Severus is of the opinion that Polyjuice Potion is the best option, but Hermione knows Harry better than Severus does—and Severus actually has an excuse to visit her.

The rain has slowed to a determined drizzle by the time Severus feels awake enough to take a tray of tea and toast up to Remus. Remus is _not_ a morning person, and damp weather makes his pain stronger. Wolfsbane follows Severus upstairs, nipping at his bare heels, then leaps onto the bed with the force of a small earthquake.

Remus says, “Umph?” and burrows his head under the duvet.

Severus permits himself ten seconds of indulgent smiling, then sits on the edge of the bed. “Lazy werewolf,” he says, his tone affectionate. He has a sudden memory of how his mother used to wake him when he was very small, singing a song about the sun getting out of bed to shine. The memory flits through his mind and is gone before it has a chance to freeze on his face.

Remus sighs, then the covers part to reveal a blinking and sleepy face. “Morning already?” he mumbles plaintively.

Severus leans over and kisses him. “I brought you toast and tea and the cat. Go back to sleep after if you want, but I have a meeting to get to.” Wolfsbane, he notices, has taken up residence under Remus’ ear, his purr loud enough to rival the storm.

“Meeting?” Remus only sounds marginally more awake, even though he is trying to push himself into a sitting position.

“Mmm. Potions talk, all very boring. I’ll be back for lunch.”

Remus takes a sip of tea and sighs. “Sounds like a gale out there.”

“I’ll wear my Wellies,” Severus assures in his driest voice.

Remus laughs, always a rich, warm sound, especially in the morning. Severus stands and Apparates.

 

The Granger-Weasley cottage has a covered entry, and it is here that Hermione’s Apparition coordinates have brought him. Severus stares at the door (painted an improbable shade of orange) for a moment, then knocks.

He expects it to be Hermione who answers. He has steeled himself for it to be Ron. He is not in the least prepared for a four-year-old with strawberry-blond hair and silvery Veela eyes. Ah. Bill and Fleur’s boy. Lightning flashes.

“Mummy!” the child shrieks, and bursts into tears. Severus blinks; he is used to frightening children, but not usually this quickly.

Then another combination of lightning and thunder assaults them and the child is quite suddenly attached to Severus’ knees. Alarmed, he tries to shake it off, but it is as tenacious as Wolfsbane and when he reaches down to pry it off, he only ends up with it attached to his arms instead of his legs. _Dear mother of Merlin I hate children,_ he thinks, and props it gingerly on his hip.

As the storm is plainly terrifying the horrid creature, it is only logical to go inside and shut the door. This puts Severus in a large homely kitchen where the lino is cracked but clean and colourful stick drawings paper the refrigerator door.

“Hush, it’s only weather,” Severus tells the sobbing Weasley. “Merlin and Nimue rowing so loud we can hear it.” He sighs. “Oh, shut it. You can’t tell me your Uncles’ joke shop isn’t this loud!” The child continues wailing.

Footsteps thump unevenly towards him and he is suddenly confronted with the object of many of his nightmares—except that the last time Severus saw him, Ron's hair had wide streaks of premature white, but he hadn’t yet grown the beard, which is also liberally swathed with white. The magical leg is hidden under trousers and robes, but one sleeve drapes conspicuously over the missing hand.

“Hallo, Snape. Terrorizing my nephew, are you?” Ron’s face is not kind or welcoming, but neither is it openly hostile. Plainly Hermione has had a Talk with her husband.

“He attacked me,” Severus says, not removing the hand that is automatically stroking the fine strawberry-blond hair.

“I reckon so. Scared of thunderstorms, and we can’t cure him of it.”

Severus doesn’t speak, but in another minute he does offer Ron the quieted child.

Ron accepts the boy and then nods towards a closed inner door. “Mione’s in her office. She got an unexpected Floo call and ordered me to be nice to you.”

Severus smiles thinly. “Quite a trial for you, I expect. I free you from your duty, Mr Weasley.”

“D’you want tea?” Ron asks, surprising him. Ron waves his empty sleeve. “I can manage that one-handed.”

“Why is it that people persist in making jokes about their disabilities?” Severus realizes a moment after he speaks that Remus actually hasn’t joked about his disability for some time. He wonders if he should be concerned about this.

“Well, if we can’t hide them, we might as well turn them to our advantage,” Ron says. He is holding the child on his hip with the maimed arm, using his good hand to lift the teapot to the stove. Severus thinks wistfully of the Dark magic Voldemort had used to create Pettigrew’s silver hand, then tells himself not to be a fool.

The silence has stretched between them and Severus is just beginning to wonder if he is going to have to damn his pride and apologize when Ron speaks.

“Hermione says you’re taking care of Remus.” His voice is awkwardly serious.

Severus stares for a moment, shocked. Why would she say that? _More like Remus is taking care of me _, flits the wry thought. Then he wonders how Remus would respond to Ron's question.__

“I am taking care of Remus,” he says slowly, “in much the manner that Hermione took care of you. Barring the pregnancy part.” Then he thinks _Remus wouldn’t have been sarcastic_ , followed by _My God, I just came out to Ron Weasley_. He experiences an urgent desire to be sick. 

This doesn’t give Ron pause for long. “Huh. Yeah, I always thought Tonks was barking up the wrong tree with Remus.” He lifts the kettle off the heat and pours. “Listen, Hermione says you two are good for each other, and I’m not going to argue. But I am going to tell you that Remus has a lot of friends who care about him, and if you cock things up, we’ll kill you, Ministry pardon or no." 

The flash of emotion that follows this statement is a mixture of anger, resentment, and relief. “Where were all those friends while he was in hospital?” Severus says acidly. 

To his surprise, Ron responds by turning very red, ears first. “I…I’m not proud, all right? But it was hard to see him, knowing everything he’s going through.” 

“Going through _alone_ until I chanced to visit him,” Severus snaps. 

“I know that, all right?” Ron retorts. He looks down. “It’s just…knowing that pain…I just want to leave it behind me, yeah? And he’s…he can’t get out. I used to visit him with Mione and Harry and Gin, but…he was so fake, so hearty and not himself. I started having to take Dreamless Sleep every night because I was having nightmares of…of That Night.” 

Severus can hear the capital letters, and they feel like a punch in the gut. That Night. The night Severus saved Ron Weasley and left Dedalus Diggle to die. 

Ron’s voice is toneless and vague. “I remember them dragging me and Dig out of the cell they’d kept us in. I remember being relieved that it was finally over and I could die. Told Dig I was honoured to die at his side. Wanted Harry to be there, but at least I wasn’t alone. Dig called me a dunderheaded Gryffindor idiot and said I wasn’t going to die. Said I was too thick-headed to die, and that Harry needed me…if I could stop being a dunce and…” 

The words trail off and Ron stares at Severus. Severus’ stomach jumps unpleasantly and he wonders how quickly he can reach the sink to be sick. 

“No,” Ron whispers. “He said _Potter_ needed me…and Dig was a Gryffindor like us…” Blast. The boy was slow, but the memories were true. “Merlin. It was you, sir. Wasn’t it? My God, all this time, and you…you could’ve called me to witness at your trial.” Ron’s eyes seem very blue. Or perhaps it is just because they are so wide. 

“You couldn’t testify if you didn’t remember,” Severus says uncomfortably. He looks at the sleeping child to avoid meeting Ron’s eyes. 

“But if it—“ 

“I must go,” Severus says, standing so abruptly his chair scrapes loudly on the floor. “Give Hermione my apologies.” 

“Snape, wait—“ 

But Severus has Apparated home, Weasley teacup still clutched in his hand. He stares at it, swallowing hard, and sets it on the table. 

Thunder crashes overhead, shaking the windowpanes in their casing. Severus takes a deep breath and climbs the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt. He reaches the bedroom and pushes off his shoes, then leaves his trousers on a heap on the floor. 

Wolfsbane shifts as Severus slides under the covers and curls up against Remus. 

“Muunph…meeting?” 

“Cancelled due to weather,” Severus mumbles. 

“Good. Come warm up.” Remus’ arms wrap around him and hold him tight. 

* * *

**Prompt:** 28 - Weather 


	25. Reliance

"Dear God."

Severus isn't finished with the Quidditch results, but he grunts in acknowledgement, and at the extended silence, looks up. Remus is staring in shock at the _Daily Prophet_. "Neville Longbottom's mother died."

Severus blinks. "Alice?" he murmurs, and immediately feels stupid; as if Longbottom has two mothers.

Remus' golden eyes flit across the page. "She's been ill for some time apparently. Poor Frank."

Severus' first thought has been for the clumsy boy who had finally, in the last battle, managed to put paid to Bellatrix Lestrange, so Remus' sympathy for Frank startles him. "What, him? He's barely aware of his surroundings. I don't imagine he's even noticed."

Remus looks up at that, his gaze unreadable, and Severus unaccountably feels the need to explain.

"I should think the boy would be the one you feel pity for."

"Mm. Neville will certainly be taking it hard." Remus scans the paper again. "The funeral is tomorrow. We ought to go."

Severus scowls as a matter of form, but finally clears his throat. "If you insist," he says, glad his voice sounds sour.

Remus glances up again, still wearing that odd expression. "I do. And as that will undoubtedly set back your brewing projects, I'll do the washing up this morning so you can get an early start and make up for it today."

Severus grunts but doesn't refuse the opportunity. He finishes his tea and goes down to the basement with the feeling of having escaped an uncomfortable conversation. He checks methodically on the four cauldrons simmering busily, then sits on his stool. He takes his quill in hand and sets a piece of parchment in front of him with precision, but instead of dipping the quill, he merely stares unblinkingly at it.

Remus knows him frighteningly well at times. Severus is slowly learning not to Occlude when they are at home, which helps, but that can't account for all of it. Remus is a man who grew up with secrets, and like other men with secrets--like Severus--he learned the art of silent observation as a form of self-defence. Severus feels as though the odd exchange of glances were an uncomfortable conversation because on some level it _was_ a conversation. Severus shies away from the idea that it was in all probability more like Remus reading him like a book.

Frank and Alice Longbottom were tortured into insanity after the Dark Lord's fall. By that time Albus had vouched for Severus and secured his release and return to the teaching position at Hogwarts. By that time Bellatrix had lost her faith in Severus, convinced in her fanatical willingness to die for Voldemort that his true followers could have no other reaction than hers.

Severus should have known, simply because he knew _Bella_ , that she would do something. He should have expected her to go after the Longbottoms once Dumbledore's old magic had placed Potter well out of it. Does Remus suspect that for twenty years Severus has wondered what sort of wizard Neville Longbottom would have been if Frank and Alice had escaped? If Severus had known of the plan and saved them? If Severus had not leapt at the chance to save himself when Dumbledore offered?

Severus lowers his head to rest in his hands.

**.:.**

The sun shines on the day Severus Snape nearly loses his courage. Alice is being buried in the Longbottom family cemetery on Augusta Longbottom's estate in Lancashire. Severus has had a very personal distaste for Augusta Longbottom ever since seeing himself in her dress in one of his Occlumency sessions with Potter.

He wakes early and rises ahead of Remus, has a shower and dresses carefully in formal robes, then sits at the desk in the spare bedroom—his childhood bedroom—and tries to convince himself he must go. Augusta Longbottom had sent him a very correct letter congratulating him on his pardon and making it clear that she held him at no fault for what he had done while helping the Order win the war. The tone of her letter also made it very clear she held him as no friend. Nevertheless, allies are allies. Longbottom had killed Bellatrix. Remus says they must go. Severus will do this thing.

Remus finds him there an hour later, looking out the window at the sunshine. He lays hands on Severus' shoulders and bends slowly to rest his cheek against the top of Severus' head. It is one of the many gestures that come so easily to Remus and mean so much to Severus, though it is something Severus cannot speak of.

"You don't have to go," Remus says. His voice is quiet, inscrutable, and Severus wonders if Remus thinks him a coward. Severus is sick to death of being thought a coward.

"I'm going."

There is a moment of silence, then Remus breathes out. "All right."

Severus turns in the chair and Remus moves back awkwardly. He is dressed in a moss-green robe with a brown under-robe showing. His hair has been washed and is hanging loose about his face, the fringe in his eyes making him look young. Severus is filled with a swell of fierce affection. "I need you," he says quietly, his tone frightening him with its intensity.

Remus' eyes light.

It always surprises Severus how his weaknesses please Remus—and how he doesn't mind, because it is Remus, and he likes pleasing Remus.

**.:.**

The funeral is small but well-attended. Severus and Remus arrive by Apparation, Remus clutching Severus' arm tightly with one hand and the cane he usually scorns with the other. A few heads turn to look at the new arrivals; Severus sees Potter's eyes narrow. Remus' hand tightens on Severus' arm. Hermione and Ron are there—most of the Weasleys are, in fact—as well as Tonks and Shacklebolt and many of the surviving Order members. Severus hears murmurs as they draw nearer. He clenches his teeth, wondering which of them will step forward to hex him first.

To his surprise, Frank Longbottom is standing passively between Neville and Augusta, his white hair neatly combed and his thin face blank. Lavender Brown is on Neville's other side, her dull purple robes uncharacteristic. Neville moves deliberately to greet them, his round face sad but peaceful somehow.

"Sir," he says, looking directly at Severus, "thank you for coming. Remus, thank you." He grips Remus' hand, but Severus doesn't want to remove Remus' support, so he doesn't offer. Neville acknowledges this with a brief downward glance and nod, then stumbles slightly when he turns to go back to Augusta. Lavender Brown puts her arms around him, ignoring Augusta's slightly disapproving stare.

Remus presses Severus' arm to get him to stop, and they stand at the back of the small group. Severus stares at the coffin and feels irritable and guilty and defensive by turns. He spares little attention for the clergyman's brief address about Alice's unwavering devotion to her family and duty, instead watching Frank's face as the man stares up at the big, white puffy clouds that are floating overhead. The thought of Frank and Alice's fate has been sickening to Severus ever since he learned of it, so many years ago. It has gnawed at his gut after another failed attempt to drill potions knowledge into Neville's head. It has filled him with a shamed contempt for two active, powerful Aurors diminished in mind to unthinking children. In Azkaban Severus had learned to envy them that unawareness, had craved such a fate for himself, had craved the Kiss if he could not have death.

Now he feels himself shamed again. Frank Longbottom sacrificed everything, yet he can watch the clouds at his wife's funeral. He is alive, he is, in some way, peaceful. But his condition is not something to be either despised or pitied or craved. It is merely another condition to be endured, like so much of life must be endured.

Remus' hand tightens again and the clergyman's voice breaks into Severus' thoughts. "We therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life." They are lowering the coffin into the earth. Neville bends and grasps a clump of dirt, then presses it into Frank's hand. His father stares at it for a moment, seeming surprised at how it feels. Neville picks up another clump and throws it into the grave. With a smile breaking like dawn over his face, Frank perceives the game and throws his own dirt. Astonishingly, achingly, Neville smiles, too.

"That's good, Dad," he says gently. "It's a good game."

**.:.**

Remus and Severus don't stay much longer. They have come, Augusta has nodded severely to them, Neville has acknowledged them. Potter has ignored them, and most of the others have followed his lead, with the notable exception of his fiancée and Hermione. Ron, holding his firstborn, has met Severus' glance but made no move to approach, and Severus does not remind Remus that they still have a Weasley teacup sitting by the sink at Spinner's End.

His head aches and it is difficult to breathe, and he wishes furiously for the cool darkness of his cellar laboratory.

When Severus has Apparated them both home, he waits for Remus to move away and make tea, because it is the sort of thing Remus usually does. Instead Remus puts his arms around him and leans his head against Severus' shoulder and clings to him. Uncertain how to act, Severus stiffens, but Remus doesn't acknowledge this, and after a long moment Severus shivers and closes his arms around Remus and holds him close.

"I love you," Remus whispers. "I love you and I am so thankful that we survived this war and we have each other and we escaped that."

Severus sighs. "I feel guilty for surviving," he says, and it is the first time he has ever said that aloud.

"I know." Remus' arms tighten around him. "But without you, I would still be in hospital. Don't ever leave me, Severus."

They are clinging to each other in the front room and Severus is afraid they are both going to come to pieces and it is absurd that the death of a classmate who was lost to them twenty years ago has caused this. He wants bed and tea and Remus, not in that order, but he is afraid to let go, so he buries his face against Remus' hair and whispers, "I never will."

* * *

**Prompt:** 18 - Death


	26. Reverting

The day after Alice Longbottom's funeral, Severus decides his morning routine can go hang. The light seeping in around the draperies is grey and diffuse, and Remus is nestled in his arms, both of them quite naked. Once they'd pulled themselves together enough to go upstairs, they had spent several hours reaffirming that they were alive and in love. Severus had never, in fact, had sex like that before; but it had allowed Remus to claim him without taxing his strength, and Severus feels pleasantly sore this morning.

Remus shifts in his arms and makes a soft waking-up noise.

"Good morning." Severus bends his head to kiss Remus, who responds sleepily. To his astonishment, Severus slept without nightmares last night, and if Remus had any, Severus slept through them—which is highly unlikely.

Remus nuzzles Severus' chest and Severus automatically lifts a hand to stroke his soft hair. This always elicits a happy noise from his lover, and this morning is no exception.

"Sleep all right?" Severus murmurs.

"Oh yes," Remus says, and yawns. "Slept like a log. You?"

"Mm, yes." Severus kisses him again. "You exhausted me last night."

Remus' smile is wicked. "Good."

Severus finally lets go of Remus and stretches, feeling his body protest gently. "Yes, we'll have to do that more often." He gives Remus one of the smiles that, these days, are not so rare. "What are your plans for today?"

"I thought I'd have a lie-in, get up when you fix lunch, perhaps answer a few letters. You?"

"Research," Severus says, "and it's your turn to cook lunch. I'm tea today."

Remus tilts his head to one side—it's his tell, and Severus knows Remus is winding him up. "No, I'm certain you're responsible for lunch today."

Severus shrugs. "Suit yourself. Lunch will be beans and toast with marmite."

Remus gives an exaggerated shudder. "Fine, I'll do lunch. And tea, just to be safe."

Severus gives him a wounded look, though it is precisely the response he expected. There are times Remus still forgets his lover is a Slytherin. He rolls onto his side, puts his arms around Remus, and falls asleep again.

 

He has just stepped out of the shower when he hears Remus' cry of alarm. It's not unusual for Remus to ask for help; what is unusual about this is the urgency in his voice.

"Severus!"

There is, in fact, a note of almost-panic that makes Severus' heart jolt in his chest. He drops his towel and rushes, naked and dripping, into the bedroom.

Remus is on the bed nearly where Severus left him. He is propped up on his arms, twisted slightly and staring wild-eyed towards the bathroom. He lets out a sob of relief when Severus appears.

"What is it? Remus?" Severus is on the bed, water running down his body and making him shiver as it soaks into the duvet. Wolfsbane scampers off the bed and crouches under the wardrobe, hissing.

Remus' mouth works for a moment without producing words. Then he shudders and gasps in a breath and says, "I can't make my legs move."

There have been moments in Severus' life when the world seemed to stop around him. The moment Albus Dumbledore tumbled backwards from the tower. The moment Lord Voldemort's body was eclipsed by radiant, searing, unforgiving light. The moment the magical shackles fell from his wrists.

These words.

He is shaking his head, leaning back from Remus. He frowns. "No," he says, and tries to provide an excuse, but can't, and so, "No," again.

"I can't." Remus' voice is louder, higher.

Severus hits him.

He doesn't mean to; he doesn't realize in the moment before his palm strikes Remus' flesh that he is going to. But he slaps him hard across the cheek, punishing him for dashing Severus' hopes. Remus stares at him, and then, astonishingly, begins to cry.

"No, no, no," Severus is saying over and over, and dear _God_ why can't he think of anything else besides that, like what he should be doing or why he just hit his lover or how he can stop the tears that are sliding silently down Remus' cheeks? "No, no," Severus repeats, as if it is a mantra that will heal Remus, as if he has the power to change reality by denying it. "No."

Remus' fingers press cool against Severus' lips. "Yes," Remus says, and the tears drip from his chin and join the bathwater in soaking their bed.

"Oh, God!" Severus groans, and Remus falls forward into Severus' arms and for several minutes Severus clings to him while Remus shivers and shakes.

 

Severus finally pulls away when they have both stopped shaking a little. He still feels as if his world has tilted on its axis, but he knows he can't sit here and fall apart. Remus needs him. The kitten crawls on top of Remus and curls protectively on his chest.

Severus barks a short laugh at the baleful glare that is suddenly levelled at him. "Bloody cat," he growls, and smoothes a hand over Remus' hair before getting off the bed.

"Right," he says, shrugging into his dressing gown. "You'll obviously need to see Smethwyck. Would you like your blue pyjamas or the green?"

Remus stares at him for a moment. "I don't want to go back."

"I won't let him keep you longer than a night," Severus promises. "But he'll need to see you. Blue or green?"

"Green." Remus sighs. "I didn't wash my hair yesterday."

"It still feels clean," Severus assures him. "Do you want to finish _Jane Eyre_?"

Remus frowns. "I'd rather finish it with you."

Severus lifts an eyebrow. "Where, exactly, do you think I'll be?"

At this, Remus' expression clears. "All right."

Severus nods once, sharply, and he shoves the pyjamas and book into a knapsack. He leaves this on the bed and dresses quickly: pants, jeans, vest, jumper, with a dark green robe over top. Remus has, he reflects with some surprise, infiltrated every corner of his life. And he is pleased by this fact.

His hair still isn't long enough to really need a comb, though he's been thinking recently that he should cut it again--it doesn't get as greasy when it's short, he's discovered, and he likes the way Remus' fingers feel, running through his hair--so he combs it with his fingers and then shoos Wolfsbane gently off Remus' chest. He assists Remus in dragging on clean pants and pyjama trousers and a t-shirt, then puts the knapsack on his shoulder and gathers Remus gently in his arms. He Apparates them directly into Smethwyck's office.

 

Smethwyck is, predictably, puzzled by Remus' condition. Severus glowers at the man as he runs his wand along Remus' legs, then explores his spine and neck, muttering and hmming and frowning. It is clear that whatever is causing Remus' paralysis, it is not physical. This leaves only Dark magic, and Severus is not going to perform that sort of examination in front of anyone else. He has been found innocent of murder, has regained his freedom, but the first hint of Dark magic from Severus Snape and he has no doubt the Ministry will dredge up some reason to haul him in and revoke his rights.

He waits until the Healers and Medi-witches have cleared out of Remus' room, then he drags a chair close to Remus' bed and takes Remus' hand in both of his own. "Do you hurt?" he asks softly, leaning his head near Remus'.

Remus exhales impatiently. "No more than usual," he says. "Stop acting like I'm going to fall apart. I'm not fragile."

_No_ , Severus thinks, _but perhaps, where you are concerned, I am_. It's a disturbing thought. He shoves it away and hopes he will never have to think about it again. "Did anyone bring back Mulciber's wand?" he says instead.

"The wand?" Remus frowns, as if he'd been expecting an argument instead of a question. "I…he had it when I killed him."

Severus inhales sharply. There is much he doesn't know about the final encounter between Remus, Greyback, and Mulciber. For all that everyone knows Remus killed them, surprisingly few details were leaked. And Severus, being a private man himself, has never pressed Remus to tell the whole story. For the first time he realizes this may have been an oversight.

"You fought Greyback as a man," Severus says slowly. He glances at Remus, whose head is bowed.

"Yes." The word is whispered. The blanket wrinkles in Remus' tight grip.

"You killed him like a wolf would."

There is no response this time. Severus tightens his hold on Remus' free hand. He does not blame Remus—how could he blame Remus, after the things he himself has done? "Greyback wounded you. How?"

Remus draws a shuddery breath. "You know Greyback was mostly feral even as a man," he murmurs. "He bit my leg, to cripple me so I couldn't chase him. He tore open the knee and ripped the ligaments."

"It was a serious wound." Severus is not asking.

"Joints heal poorly, even in lycanthropes," Remus agrees. "Red meat helps—raw meat. Blood." He shudders. "Even as men we crave blood. Our bodies need it for the healing."

"Makes sense," Severus muses. "So Greyback thought you wouldn't follow, with such an injury. He underestimated you."

"I followed." Remus' voice is grim. Severus recognizes the tone; Remus is caught up in the reliving of that battle. "I followed him all night. He was hurt, too; I had a trail of blood to follow."

"And he led you into a trap." Severus doesn't know this, not for sure, but it makes sense.

"Mulciber was waiting." Remus' voice is a growl. Severus feels a shiver run down his spine. "He hit me with two curses before I even saw him. I—" Remus shudders again. "I was running almost as feral as Fenrir. I leapt on Mulciber. I tore his throat out before I remembered I had a wand." The normally pleasant hoarse voice is ugly with self loathing. "He bled a lot."

There is silence in the room for a moment. Severus hears someone in the hall use a Sonorus Charm to call Healer Pye. He tightens his grip on Remus' hand.

"The blood gave me strength, but it didn't ease the pain. I didn't care. The pain was driving me on, forcing me after Fenrir. He made his stand in an old rock quarry. I used my teeth and hands. He was tired. He was easy to kill."

Remus is shaking badly. Severus wants to pull Remus into his arms but he is unsure how his lover will react. After a moment he does it anyway. Remus stiffens, then melts into the embrace. "I didn't go back to Mulciber. I stood over Fenrir to claim my kill. Until Tonks and Kingsley showed up to save me."

Severus snorts. 'Save him' indeed. But now he understands why Miss Tonks still flinches at the mention of Remus' name these days. The hypocritical cow.

Severus' acceptance of the story seems to help. At any rate Remus' shaking slows and ceases, and after a while he nuzzles against Severus' chest. His muscles are relaxing in Severus' arms.

"I want Mulciber's wand," Severus says. It is impossible, inconceivable, that no one has thought of it until now. Perhaps there is no one else on staff at St Mungo's who has Severus' experience at inventing spells; still, it is unforgivable. In order to devise a countercurse, the original curse must be known. A simple Prior Incantato could answer the single most important question in Severus' life.

He waits until the pain potions take effect and Remus is asleep in his arms. He kisses the lined forehead softly and brushes back silvery brown hair, and then he stands.

He needs Mulciber's wand, no matter what the security classification of the case evidence or the cost to himself.

It is time to call in a few favours.

* * *

**Prompt:** 72 – Curse


	27. Repercussion

Six times in his life has Severus made a list of people who Owe Him: when he left Hogwarts and entered Voldemort's service; when he became a spy for the Order; when Dumbledore saved him from Azkaban; when Voldemort returned; when he fled Hogwarts; when Voldemort was defeated. Six lists in twenty-four years, six very different lists made for very similar reasons--a desire for security, for control, for insurance.

Severus hadn't bothered with a list when he was released from Azkaban, because he hadn't believed he could be owed anything anymore. He has never, until now, felt a need to create a seventh list. Today, looking down at the relaxed and beautiful face of Remus Lupin, who has finally succumbed to the pain potions, Severus is reminded that seven is a very powerful number. Seven years of school, seven Horcruxes, seven deadly sins, seven days of the week.

It's time for a new list.

He begins with the Order. Fleur Weasley, George, Ginny, Tonks, Shacklebolt. (Charlie has discharged his debt, and Severus refuses to count Ron or Hermione.) Arthur Weasley owes him several times over. Percy, while Severus is thinking of redheads. Damocles Belby _will_ owe him, if Severus chooses to share his own research on the Wolfsbane Potion improvements. Cornelius Fudge owes him a great deal, and may still have enough friends to be valuable.

Severus decides to start with Shacklebolt. He's Ministry, and one of the two who took charge when Mulciber and Greyback were killed. He ought to know what happened to Mulciber's wand. If not, at least Severus will be in the right place to continue inquiries.

As Severus is making his way to the Diagon Alley entrance of St Mungo's, he is so focused on his destination and intent that he doesn't notice Hermione Weasley until she says his name a second time. He turns.

"Hermione. I'm pleased you are here." He automatically slips into more formal speech patterns around his former students, had even addressed Draco like this after they fled Hogwarts. "Remus is back in hospital for the moment." He watches her face as he speaks, wondering if her husband has told her the whole truth yet. "If you have a little time, I know he would like to see you. Of course he's sleeping just now..." He trails off carefully.

Her brown eyes are wide and sympathetic. "And you have some business to take care of, obviously. I just picked up some new reports. I could read them in his room and let him know where you've gone if he wakes."

Ah, Gryffindors. Absolutely no pleasure to be had in manipulating them; they're far too easy. Severus looks properly grateful; that is, he stops scowling.

"I have several things I must do, I'm afraid, but he wasn't...quite himself, after yesterday's exertion." She doesn't need to know it was likely the sex that wore Remus out more than the funeral itself.

"I suppose it was very stressful for you both," she says. "Ron got Harry to admit, yesterday, that it was...erm, _decent_ of you to come with Remus, by the way. It's a small victory, but now that Ron seems convinced, Harry might come around."

Severus sighs. "I hope Remus will feel well enough to attend the wedding." In the stress of the funeral and Remus' sudden setback, Severus' concerns about Potter's wedding seem small.

"I do, too." Hermione sighs. "Well, I shouldn't delay you. I'll stay with him until you get back."

Severus nods and departs. That is one of many reasons Hermione Weasley is not on the list; she, among so few, has shown Severus as well as Remus genuine kindness.

 

Shacklebolt isn't in when Severus arrives at the Ministry. Unfortunately several other Aurors are. He ducks stealthily into Tonks' office and is pleased when she jumps. Her elbow knocks against a stack of papers, starting a chain reaction that results in most of the contents of her desk taking up sudden residence on the floor. A vase of roses shatters, splashing water across the snowfield of reports.

"Ah, graceful as ever, Miss Tonks," he purrs.

"What do _you_ want?" Her tone is belligerent, which suits him; he wants her off-balance.

"I hear you are one of the illustrious Dark Wizard catchers who had the honour of arresting..." He clears his throat delicately. "Well, shall we call him a former paramour?"

It is truly fascinating to watch a Metamorphmagus blush: first the hair, then the skin, goes through a series of colours, ending in a deep magenta. Severus had always enjoyed humiliating Tonks when she was his student; he takes even more personal pleasure in it now.

"Remus and I were never lovers!" she says hotly.

"A pity," Severus murmurs. "I hear he's an _animal_ in bed." He ignores the twinge of guilt at knowing Remus would hate that.

"Go bother someone else, Snape. I'm not interested."

Severus' smile is unpleasant. "And of course you knew exactly to whom I was referring. At least you weren't foolish enough to try to deny that you _wanted_ to be his lover."

She leaps to her feet, sending a cup of Witch Fuel coffee splashing against the wall. "Get the fuck out!"

His smile widens. "July."

The colour and energy drain from her and she slumps back into her chair. She's buggered and she knows it. Amazing. He doesn't even need to specify that he is referring to 14 July 1999--the mere month will suffice. A small thrill runs through him.

"What do you want?"

Dear Merlin, he should have decided on blackmail as a career choice when he was eighteen. This is too easy. He smiles and folds his hands. "I want all evidence from the Greyback-Mulciber Incident."

"Evi--Snape, everyone already _knows_ Remus killed them! Telling people won't damage him. Besides, haven't you done enough to him?"

Severus tilts his head slightly. "The evidence is what I require."

Her hair turns a violent red. "That's stealing Ministry property!"

He sighs. "Tiresome girl. If it will make you feel better, I'll only _borrow_ it."

She scowls, but his face is impassive as he looks back at her in silence. This is his only concession. Finally she sighs.

"Right. Wait here."

*****

It feels too easy, but Severus doesn't believe in looking a gift Thestral in the mouth, so he keeps an eye out for Shacklebolt and waits for Tonks to return. He doesn't know why he's relieved to discover that Remus never gave in to Tonks' embarrassing entreaties. It shouldn't really matter. But it is undeniably pleasing.

Several minutes later Shacklebolt strides into the Auror department, frowning in preoccupation. A simple Luring Charm is enough to bring him to Tonks' office. By the time he realises he isn't at his own door, Severus is there to catch his eye.

"Snape? This isn't exactly the best place for you to hang about." Shacklebolt's slow, deep voice is curious.

Severus gives him a disingenuous look. "I'm waiting for Miss Tonks to finish assisting me with something."

Shacklebolt raises an eyebrow. "This has something to do with you and Remus showing up at the funeral together."

There is a reason Severus has always been more wary of Shacklebolt than of Tonks. "Very perceptive of you." He inclines his head slightly. "I have been investigating the curse-related injuries Lupin suffered at the end of the war."

Shacklebolt's other eyebrow goes up. "That's a bit odd," he says. "Didn't think the two of you got on."

Severus shrugs. Shacklebolt may be one of the friends Remus eventually chooses to tell, but he won't hear it from Severus. "I find myself in somewhat...reduced circumstances. One does what one must."

"Mm hmm." Shacklebolt draws in a slow breath. "I don't know what the curses were. I don't even know if they were what affected...em... _how_ Remus chose to deal with Greyback. I did notice he's having mobility difficulties; is that a part of the curse? It's a shame to see the poor bloke using a cane. He was always so graceful."

Severus raises an eyebrow this time. The man has a wife and several children, but it's interesting that he's noticed Remus' grace.

"I always thought it a damn shame the Auror Programme didn't accept werewolves," Shacklebolt says in answer to the unspoken question. "Anyway. Tell Remus I said hello. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Do I look like a messenger owl?" Severus says acidly. "But now that you mention it...What happened to Mulciber and Greyback's bodies?"

Shacklebolt shrugs. "Standard procedure for Death Eaters. Stripped of all effects and buried in numbered graves."

It is typical, Severus thinks, that the Ministry treats Death Eaters as if they have no family or friends. "And the effects?"

"Logged as evidence."

"Lupin was never charged with a crime, though?"

Shacklebolt shrugs. "What crime? He'd been threatened by two fugitive Death Eaters. He killed them in self defence."

Severus cocks his head. "Self defence is why Nymphadora Tonks finally gave up her idiotic quest to make the werewolf a pity fuck?"

Shacklebolt doesn't even flinch. "Are you certain that's your business?"

"Well, it does speak to the state of mind of the werewolf." Severus' expression is cool.

There is a silence. Then, "She finally realised he wasn't lying or exaggerating when he said he's dangerous. She can handle most types of danger, but this is different, for her."

"And yet you don't seem to believe Lupin is a monster."

"Neither do most people, these days. He's done a lot for werewolf rights, frankly, just by being an Order member." Shacklebolt shrugs. "But then, I know what war does to people. What it did to me. I think Remus handled it better than most. And he's still having to deal with it, isn't he?" He sighs and settles on Tonks' desk. "One of our hit wizards, Augustine? He was desked and put on watch because he started smacking his wife around. Couldn't deal with what he did in the war, started taking it out on her. At least Remus always remembered who the enemy was. Up to realizing you'd been helping us. Remember that, if you're ever inclined to think of him as a monster."

Severus forces himself to stay impassive, but he can't forget that he slapped Remus this morning. He swallows. "I may need your assistance in future," he says aloud. "We'll be in touch."

A brief smile touches Shacklebolt's face. "Get lost, Kingsley," he says, his voice ironic.

Severus frowns. "Wait. I need to see Arthur Weasley before I leave. You can tell Miss Tonks where I've gone."

"Do I look like a messenger owl?" the tall Auror asks mildly.

"Only when you start poking your beak in where it doesn't belong," Severus retorts, though his voice is tart but not unfriendly.

Shacklebolt's laughter is loud and deep, and Severus can't quite ignore the warmth he feels at having earned it with a joke.

*****

Arthur Weasley is tilting his chair back and studying the ceiling when Severus pauses outside his office. His hands are behind his head, his gaze unwavering, but he says, "Hallo, Severus," without even looking at him.

"Arthur." There is more respect here; Arthur has earned respect, on many levels--he was unafraid to take a stand, despite the danger to him and his family; he survived an attack by Nagini; he has been strong despite the loss of his oldest child; he has encouraged his children to be bold, despite his wife's fears. For these reasons, and others Severus can't quite name, he respects Arthur Weasley. They are nothing alike, but Severus has learned to value the man's opinion.

"How are you? I didn't get a chance to speak with you at the funeral yesterday."

Severus pauses. He isn't certain quite what tone to take with Arthur. "Remus still isn't making long excursions. I thought it best not to let him over-exert himself."

Arthur nods, then looks at him, his eyes bright and interested. "My daughter-in-law and son tell me you've been helping Remus for the past few months."

Severus makes a show of looking somewhat awkward; it isn't very difficult to do. "We're the only two left, from our year at Hogwarts. And...we survived a war together." He pauses, his mouth still open, searching for words.

"And he's the only family you have left."

Severus' mouth snaps shut. Family? Remus isn't family, he's his lover! But a spouse is family, he supposes. He thinks back at the blazing rows his parents used to have. Eileen Snape would have killed to protect her son--and she would have killed to protect her husband. Lily Potter died to save her son. Severus would die to save Remus, were it necessary.

"Yes," he said quietly. "He is my family."

Arthur smiles. "I think Ron admires you, though he hasn't said it aloud. I know he was a trial to you at school--that all my boys were--but he's grown up a great deal, Severus. And both he and Hermione are much impressed with your concern for Remus."

Severus shifts, feeling wretchedly awkward. Why had he thought talking to Arthur would be a good idea? Suddenly he realises that Arthur must know he and Remus are lovers. Even if Ron has said nothing about that particular admission, it is obvious he's talked about them. He is nearly overwhelmed by a desire to flee.

"I'm sure Remus isn't up to much visiting yet, but when he is, I hope you'll come to the Burrow for tea," Arthur says.

"Thank you," Severus mutters, and he gives in to his instincts and makes his escape.

*****

When Severus gets back to the hospital, Remus is still sleeping. Hermione looks at the single package Severus is carrying, then shuffles her papers together and heaves herself to her feet. Her belly is getting very big.

Severus has always been uncomfortable around pregnant women, but he forces his awkwardness aside. "When does the world receive the joy of yet another Weasley?" he asks stiffly.

She finds this amusing for some reason. "I'm due the last of July or the first of August," she says. "Either Harry or Ginny's birthday." She tilts her head. "You were gone quite a while. Are things...all right?"

"An impertinent question, Hermione." He blinks. Only now does he realise he has been thinking of her by her given name for some time now.

She gives him a crooked smile. "I was always good at that."

"Indeed." He mulls it over for a moment. "I do not feel at liberty to discuss all the details without Remus' consent." He has not forgotten the humiliation Remus expressed about Hermione's knowledge of his condition. "Let me simply say that there are those who don't seem to realise that if they hurt Remus, _I_ am the one who will make them pay."

She nods slowly. "I'm very glad he has you," she says, her voice very soft. "I'm glad you have him." There is a long pause. Severus is ready for her to go so he can settle in next to Remus' bed, but she obviously isn't finished. Finally she looks up at him. "Severus, when the baby is born, Ron and I would like you and Remus to name him."

Severus blinks. That's a different version of the naming idea than what Remus has mentioned. "You've scried to learn the sex?"

She smiles. "No, but Weasleys usually have boys."

He clears his throat, uncomfortable again. "Ah. I--we--will give the matter due consideration." She's mad. What do he and Remus know about naming children?

She nods happily and finally, blessedly, leaves.

 

He is fully engrossed in reading the documents from Mulciber's file when Remus stirs. Severus sets the papers aside and takes Remus' hands in his own.

"How do you feel?"

Remus clears his throat and appears to give the matter some thought. "Calmer," he says finally. "My jaw hurts."

Astonishingly, Severus feels a line of heat burn across his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he mutters. He can't bring himself to look away from Remus' cheekbone, where a smudge of reddish-purple marks the beginning of a bruise.

Remus sighs. "I daresay you were as frightened as I was."

"That doesn't excuse it," Severus protests.

"No. It doesn't," Remus agrees. His hands clasp Severus' tightly. "But it does at least explain it. So I forgive you."

Severus lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Thank you."

Remus nods. "It won't happen again."

"No."

Remus' expression softens and he places a finger under Severus' chin, drawing him close for a long kiss. "I love you rather desperately, Severus," he murmurs. "It would kill me to lose what we have, but I won't permit myself to be taken advantage of or abused."

"No," Severus whispers again, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Nor," Remus continues, his voice lowering to a slightly growly tone, "will I allow _you_ to be taken advantage of or abused. You are my lover, my soulmate, my helpmeet, and I am yours, and I will not let anyone--especially not you--destroy that."

A rush of heat goes through Severus, followed quickly by a strange, prickly cold. Yes, Remus does that, protect Severus from his own worst enemy--himself. He draws in a deep breath. "I love you more than anything," he murmurs. The words are difficult to say. "And I--I know I ought to be hexed for hitting you." _I won't be my father_ , he thinks fiercely.

Unexpectedly, Remus smiles. "No, you're a better man than that," he says, and for a moment Severus wonders if he thought that too loudly. But as usual Remus has just read him and answered what he knows Severus will be thinking. It sends a rush of fierce love through him, and he leans forward, gripping Remus' hands tightly.

"I swear we will find out why this is happening," he promises, gazing earnestly into the warm, loving eyes. "And I'll be right here with you, no matter what."

* * *

**Prompt:** 47 - Family


	28. Reminder

Severus is relieved when the morning light creeps into the bedroom. He has been lying awake all night, staring blankly through the darkness at his ceiling. He is intimately familiar with the odd shadow over the door and the water stain near the window. He watches the spider in the corner rebuilding part of its web. He is loath to disturb Wolfsbane yet, considering how confused the kitten has been by Remus' absence.

Wolfsbane had perched on the end of the bed as Severus slowly undressed late last night. When Severus was lying stiffly on his side of the bed, Wolfsbane kept pacing between him and Remus' pillow, making plaintive "murr" noises. It had been nearly two hours before the kitten settled down against Severus' ear, and even then no purr was forthcoming.

It should be amusing, how much the kitten obviously misses the werewolf whom, a mere two months ago, it viewed as an interloper. It _should_ be amusing...but Severus has been awake all night wondering why Remus was so insistent that Severus come home for the night. It has occurred to him to wonder if Remus sent him home alone to give him something to fear. If that is the case, it is unnecessary, but it will be effective. Severus has been castigating himself for hitting his lover nearly from the moment he did so. His repentance doesn't hinge on one lonely night, though perhaps it is a fitting punishment.

When the spider in the corner finally goes still, awaiting prey, Severus forces himself to move. He shrugs into his dressing gown and cups Wolfsbane, one-handed, against his chest as he walks down the stairs. He brews coffee and fixes oatmeal in a perfunctory manner. He cannot go to St Mungo's to retrieve Remus until eleven, but he has no desire for anything or anyone but Remus.

He does the washing up by hand just to while away a few more minutes. He looks at the peeling wallpaper in the kitchen. He studies the floor. He goes down to his workroom, where he has the Mulciber-Greyback evidence secured in a warded safe. His eyes are burning. He knows better than to attempt any investigation while he is this tired. All the same he cannot resist hefting the wand in his hand.

He stares at it for a few minutes, learning nothing, then something chirrups curiously near his elbow and he realises Wolfsbane has followed him.

"Who said you could come down here?" he demands. He puts the wand away, then scoops the kitten up and goes back upstairs. He is careful to shut the cellar door securely behind him. He goes up to the first floor and settles the kitten on the bed, then sets about preparing sluggishly for the day.

He has a shower, then Floo-calls Minerva, who assures him that she will be more than happy to Transfigure and enchant a Muggle wheelchair into a proper magical counterpart. She believes Hermione will be an excellent partner in the venture, with her personal knowledge of mobility issues. Minerva promises to handle everything.

Severus recreates the panic wards from the stairs all over the house. He wants Remus to be able to ask for help from the house and receive it in the form of levitating spells, cushioning charms--safety. It is a simple, though time-consuming, process, now that the original spellwork has already been devised.

Finally, _finally_ , it is half-ten and he thinks it time to go to the hospital.

 

Remus is already dressed and sitting in a chair waiting for Severus with an expression as close to impatience as he will ever get. Severus kneels in front of Remus' chair and enfolds his lover in his arms.

"Couldn't sleep without you," he mumbles into Remus' chest, and in reward he gets his arse groped. He pulls back, shocked, and Remus grins.

"Am I interrupting?" Ron Weasley's voice is dryly amused.

Severus quells a sudden surge of panic and glances over his shoulder. "People who don't bother to knock often see things they don't like," he retorts, getting to his feet.

Ron doesn't look at all repentant. "The door wasn't shut," he points out. "Hermione said Remus was in hospital. I wanted to see if there's anything I can do." Severus imagines he sees a flash of guilt in the blue eyes.

"Thanks, Ron, but I'm about to go home," Remus says, his voice bright. Severus is afraid it is false cheer.

"Congratulations!" is Ron's automatic reply. Severus decides not to disabuse him.

"Thanks. I do appreciate the thought."

Ron nods. "I'll pop by for tea in a few days, then," he promises before leaving.

Smethwyck isn't pleased to have Remus discharging himself without solving the problem, but Severus is very mindful of his promises. One night was all he and Remus had agreed upon, and in the end Severus Side-along Apparates Remus to their bedroom.

Remus sighs when he sees the bed but doesn't say anything. Severus helps him sit down and they look at each other in silence for several heartbeats. Finally Remus shakes his head.

"It won't do. Whatever's troubling you, best be out with it now. Is it finally too much? Have you realised you've an invalid on your hands?" His words, his voice, are light, but his expression is stiff and he can't quite meet Severus' gaze.

It is probably proof of what a bastard Severus is that his first reaction to Remus' discomfort is relief. Not because Remus is right--of course not, never that! But because Remus is so very far from the truth.

"No!" Severus exclaims, and Remus stiffens slightly, then looks up at him. It is so strange to realise Severus never imagined that Remus is frightened too. Perhaps Remus had spent a night similar to Severus'--wakeful, worried. Wary. Severus is smiling.

"No, not at all," he says, his gentle expression letting Remus relax. "I--Well, I told you I couldn't sleep without you. I had thought, perhaps, my night alone was meant to show me how much I have to lose, if I ever--hit you like that again."

From the surprise that blossoms on Remus' face it is obvious _he_ hadn't realized that _Severus_ is frightened. He sighs and relaxes completely. "I was afraid," he confesses, "that I'd finally got to be too much trouble."

Severus sighs and shakes his head. "I promised to always love and honour you. That isn't going to change. You're home to me, wherever you are."

Remus doesn't say anything to that. He simply holds out his arms and draws Severus down onto the bed with him. For the first time in twenty-four hours, Severus is able to relax. Within minutes, warm and content, Severus is asleep.

* * *

**Prompt:** 97 – Author’s Choice - Home


	29. Retracing

The moment Severus tests Mulciber's wand, he knows this is not the one that cursed Remus. He can't say how he is so sure, but he is. All the same, he is a thorough investigator; attention to detail is what makes him a good potioner, and it is well applied in other fields. He casts _Prior Incantato_ and watches the spells that trickle out: _Diffendo, Protego, Crucio, Rictusempra, Diffendo, Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra..._

By the time he is surrounded by the memories of Bill Weasley, Zacharias Smith, and Parvati Patil, Severus is feeling more than a little uncomfortable. Smith pokes his nose into the shelves of potions ingredients. Bill stares around him narrowly.

"I hope you aren't still hiding out from the Ministry, Snape," he says. "Haven't you contacted Remus? He knows you're the anonymous tipper."

Severus folds his arms across his chest. "Have you seen Lupin recently?"

"Recently for you or for me?" Bill asks dryly. "I imagine I've been dead for a while."

"You were killed at the final battle, weren't you?" Severus asks.

"Right, got in the middle of a huge scrum and my shields finally failed. How are my wife and boy?"

Smith pokes at something and watches in fascination as his fingers go right through it. Parvati giggles at him. Severus rolls his eyes.

"I haven't seen your wife recently. Your boy is afraid of thunderstorms."

Bill's memory sighs. "Tell Fleur to go back to her family, if she wants. I know she's never been completely happy in England."

Severus raises his eyebrows. Well, it won't be difficult to do. He nods. "Not that you really care, but Lupin and I are living together. I have been exonerated in the eyes of the law, if not in the eyes of general Wizarding society. Mulciber cursed Lupin after a fight with Greyback. It's caused a great deal of nerve damage."

Bill's memory makes a regretful noise. "That's a swizz. Poor Remus. I've always liked him, and he doesn't deserve more hardship."

"I was _told_ this wand--" he holds it up-- "was Mulciber's. Who killed you, Bill? Do you have any idea?"

Bill tilts his head to one side. "Could've been any of a lot of people. A Lestrange, Pettigrew, Malfoy...but Mulciber, I don't think he was anywhere around."

Severus swears. "Bollocks. I knew it couldn't be that easy. And Ollivander's nephew won't be any help at all. Though I suppose he might still have his uncle's records."

"As if he'd let _you_ see them," Smith breaks in. "Everyone knows you're a fucking traitor."

Severus ignores him, though he has a feeling Smith is speaking truth. He turns and looks at Parvati. Bill started it, so Severus might as well fill her in on the latest news, as well. "You'll be pleased to know that Lavender Brown is going out with Neville Longbottom, and your sister is happily married to some Hufflepuff boy whose name I've forgotten," he says. Then he swishes the wand through the air, dispelling the memories.

He is at a dead end. He'll have to break into Ollivander's shop, but first he'll have to arrange for the nephew to be gone somehow. That will have to wait for another day. It will require a reconnaissance visit to the shop first, anyway.

At that moment the air chimes and Remus' voice says, "Severus could you come upstairs for a few moments?"

"Of course." Severus has set up a Speaking Spell so Remus can summon him from brewing or cooking if he is in another part of the house. He has only been home from hospital since yesterday, but adapting the spells in the house is the first thing they did. Severus thinks it soothes Remus' pride a bit that he was able to help with the magic, despite the fact that he can't walk.

Remus doesn't like relying on Severus to levitate him downstairs and to the loo, but even knowing this, Severus is surprised at how stroppy his lover is by the end of the afternoon. Through supreme effort, Severus' patience has lasted longer than Remus'. Even when he wants to snark at his lover to drink less bloody tea so he won't need to piss as often, he manages to hold his tongue.

"For God's sake, do you want to hold my cock for me, too?" Remus demands.

Severus stares at him, surprised. "I am trying to help."

"Just keep me levitated over the toilet," Remus snaps. "I can manage the rest on my own, thanks. Have been for years."

"Right, I've had enough of this attitude," Severus says. He is _this close_ to levitating Remus right into the shower and turning on the cold water. "I am doing everything I can to make this easier on you. There's no need to be ungrateful."

Remus stares back at him. "I like that!" he manages finally. "You're trying to make this easy? What's easy about being paralysed from the waist down? I'm lucky my fucking prick even works!"

Severus narrows his eyes and takes a deep breath. Fortunately for Remus, Severus feels a brush against his leg just then and reaches down to stroke a hand along Wolfsbane's back. The kitten begins his ridiculously loud purr, which always manages to calm Severus down, damn it all. He doesn't look up until Remus flushes the toilet.

Over the noise of the taps, Severus hears the fire downstairs make the chiming noise that always precedes a call.

"Severus? Remus? Are you in?"

Remus mutters something Severus chooses not to hear. With a sigh, Severus levitates Remus down the stairs, hands still dripping.

"Hello, Minerva," Severus says. "I'll be right with you."

He levitates Remus to the chair furthest from the fire, blocking Minerva's view with his body as he gets Remus settled. When he turns, he arranges his face in as pleasant an expression as he can manage.

Minerva is smiling pleasantly at him from the fireplace. "How are you, Severus?"

"About to murder a bloody werewolf," Severus mutters, and doesn't care, at that moment, if Remus hears him. He's had it.

Minerva, drat her, only chuckles. "Well, perhaps it will help if I tell you that Hermione and I are nearly finished with the chair. We just need to calibrate the magic to Remus to give him fine control over it. I wondered if we could pop over after tea."

Severus rolls his eyes. "Pop over _for_ tea, if you like," he says. "I haven't fixed it yet."

"Don't I get to be consulted about this at all?" Remus demands from behind Severus.

Severus sighs, and Minerva's eyes widen slightly. "I beg your pardon, Remus," she calls. "I can't see past Severus. How are you?"

"Oh, just bloody fine," Remus says. "Pop over for tea if you'd like."

Severus glares over his shoulder at Remus. "If you didn't care, why the bloody hell did you interrupt?"

Remus gives him a look that reminds Severus of the year they taught together. It is composed and calm and one-hundred percent guaranteed to annoy the bloody _fuck_ out of Severus. "I simply thought it would be polite of you to ask my opinion, as this regards me."

Severus' eyes narrow, but he restrains himself and turns back to regard Minerva.

"Will you be Flooing in?"

"Oh, my, no," Minerva says. "I believe this will require a Coordinated Apparition between Miss Granger and me. It would be best if you cleared a space in the front room there."

"The chair isn't large, is it?" Remus asks. Strangely, he sounds like he has restored his equilibrium. "That is, it will fit in the stairs and upstairs hall, won't it? They're quite narrow."

"Yes, dear, of course," Minerva says. "We were careful to take such things into consideration. I think you'll find it quite pleasing."

Severus stands. "If you'll excuse me, Minerva, I'll begin on tea. You and Hermione may come whenever you like."

Minerva smiles at him. "Of course."

Their conversation fades to a murmur as Severus goes into the kitchen and begins to work. He tunes out their words and focuses on putting together something he won't be ashamed to feed guests. It's a talent he learned quickly in his time as a spy--how to listen without appearing to, and how to ignore people entirely...and how to know which to do.

Tea is nearly ready when he hears a loud _bampf_ of displaced air. He turns the heat off the chicken and goes out to the front room where the air is still shimmering just a bit. Hermione and Minerva are standing to either side of a comfortable-looking recliner. It is smaller than most chairs and upholstered in a Gryffindor brocade. Severus snorts.

"Hello, Hermione, Minerva," Remus is saying. "I apologise for not rising."

Severus suspects he is the only one who hears the bitterness in Remus' voice.

"Nonsense," Hermione says; she sounds more like Minerva with each passing year. Severus thinks that she could find someone worse to emulate. "We'll be taxing your energy enough as it is."

Remus raises his eyebrows.

"After we eat," Minerva says. "You'll need a full stomach to handle the magic."

Severus is curious about how this all will work. He's never had any reason to learn this sort of magic, but it's obviously very complex. "Well, tea is ready," he offers. "We might as well eat so we can get on with this."

The meal is actually quite pleasant. Severus is reminded that he likes Minerva a great deal and that Hermione is not nearly as bad as she was as his student. They talk about recent developments within the Ministry, then the conversation swings to the House Elf Reform Bill Hermione is trying to get through the Ministry, with Potter's help. Severus agrees that the brat might as well make himself useful for something. Hermione gives a wry smile when he says as much, and Minerva snorts.

"Don't worry, he'll come around," Hermione says. "Eventually."

"I am not worried," Severus says coolly. Of course, it's a lie.

After he and Minerva have done the washing up, it is time to calibrate the chair. He levitates Remus into it, giving him time to get settled comfortably. Minerva inspects it, makes a few thinking noises, and taps the arms of the chairs. It shrinks slightly, moulding itself better to fit Remus. After a moment she taps the back, as well, and Remus gives a faint smile.

"The back support is much better," he says.

Minerva nods. "You can use simple commands to operate it," she explains. "Nonverbal spells work as well as verbal ones, though you must have a wand. Neither Hermione nor I could operate it wandless."

"Though my wandless magic isn't nearly as strong as Minerva's or yours, Professor," Hermione puts in. Severus wonders if she means him or Remus.

Remus shrugs. "I don't know why I wouldn't have my wand, anyway." He grips it and a moment later the chair reclines smoothly.

Minerva inspects the fit of the chair and adjusts the footrest to be a bit shorter. "I do believe this will fit nearly anywhere you need to go," she says. "You'll want to set up levitation points in the toilet and shower, of course, to give yourself complete autonomy."

"Not that it's a hardship for me to help," Severus adds, then wonders why he felt compelled to say it. But Remus looks at him for a long moment, then nods slowly. It is a reassurance: they are both still committed to this.

Hermione smiles. "The chair levitates, and you control the speed, as well. We'd prefer that you put the chair through its paces while we're here, in case it needs any fine-tuning. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not." Remus sounds perfectly cheerful now. Severus wonders if it is the prospect of autonomy, or if it is simply the good company. He complies by making the chair levitate, go forwards, go backwards, go to the side, and turn. The final tests must be conducted upstairs--first taking the chair up and down and back up the stairs to be certain it handles the incline well.

"We tested it on the moving staircases of Hogwarts," Hermione explains, "and we reckoned that if it could handle those, it would be fine on your stairs. But it's still worth making sure."

Severus blinks in amusement, but doesn't laugh because he's worried Remus will take it wrong.

They make sure the chair fits into the loo, then go to the bedroom so Remus can experiment with getting in and out of the chair. He manages it with relative ease, though his arm muscles are shaking a bit with fatigue by the time he's done it half a dozen times. Severus hates this. He wants to levitate Remus, but Remus won't allow it.

"Levitation is best done on someone else," he says, as if Severus doesn't already know. "If one attempts to levitate oneself, things can go very wrong. Obviously I need to learn how to do this on my own, in case you aren't home." 

Severus sighs, but it's true. He shrugs and leans against the wardrobe, watching Remus get settled into bed. The chair, Minerva says, is well-calibrated, though fine tuning will continue over the next several days. Remus stifles a yawn.

Severus has never been good at polite goodbyes. "Thank you for your help," he says stiffly, looking first at Minerva, then Hermione. "Remus should sleep."

Remus looks amused. "What that means is, go away, because Severus wants a nap," he explains to them.

They both laugh, but to Severus' relief they aren't offended. And since when did he care whether anyone took offence at his words? But he escorts them to the fireplace, which will allow Minerva to return directly to the castle. Hermione says she will go home and kisses Minerva's cheek.

To Severus' surprise, she reaches out and hugs him, her very pregnant belly bumping against him and making him uncomfortable. But he manages to pat her shoulder stiffly. It makes her laugh again.

She steps back and looks up at him, a warm light in her eyes. "I hope you realise that Ron and I care very much for both of you," she says. "I'm so glad I could help, even just a little. Do Floo if you need anything at all."

Severus is at a loss for words, but finally manages, "Your husband said he would come round for tea one afternoon. He is welcome."

Her smile brightens, and then she turns and steps into the Floo.

Severus goes back upstairs. The hunt for Mulciber's wand will keep for a day. He has a lover who is in bed alone.

* * *

**Prompt:** 23 - Wands


	30. Reassurance

Severus isn't sure he's allowed to touch Remus _that_ way, now that his legs aren't working. He wasn't even sure, at first, that Remus would be, well, _up_ for sex, considering. But two mornings in a row now he has noticed Remus' impressive morning erection, so apparently his lover's cock is still fully functional.

This doesn't explain why Severus is standing under the hot water of the shower stroking himself instead of shagging Remus. But he can't help feeling rather indecent for wanting to use Remus' body for pleasure when Remus himself is unable to use it properly.

Perhaps he shouldn't even want Remus now. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, imagining it is Remus' wider, more callused hand wrapped around his cock. He strokes himself slowly, teasingly, the way Remus would, instead of his own preferred method of hard and fast. They are lovers, but perhaps while Remus is injured (not crippled, not disabled--this is _temporary_ ) they shouldn't have sex.

Severus bites his lip and gives his hand a little twist. And Remus always flicks a thumb across the head, just so. He shivers.

Perhaps Remus doesn't want him anymore? Severus has seen no evidence that Remus is wanking. What if he can't come? It would be bloody unfair of Severus to get his end away if Remus can't.

God, but Severus wants to shag Remus. He wants to position him carefully and draw his legs over Severus' shoulders and thrust in deep and fast. He can imagine (remember) how warm and tight Remus feels, and how Severus loses control when they're making love.

He groans softly and his release spatters the shower wall. Slumping to the side, he rests his head against a clean spot and wonders how they got to this place. He can't bring himself to ask Remus if he doesn't want to be touched anymore. Knowing would be worse than this wondering, he thinks.

Finally he finishes his shower and dries off, feeling worse than he did when he got out of bed. He Apparates downstairs because he can't face Remus now. If Remus is feeling sorry for him, he doesn't want to know.

He spends more time than usual fixing breakfast, and then debates whether to take it to Remus in bed, which he has done several times, or whether that would be insulting, implying that Remus can't eat breakfast at the table. After a lengthy debate with himself, he takes the tray upstairs.

Remus is wide awake in bed, lying on his side. He stares at Severus' side of the bed, no expression on his face. Severus isn't sure what to say suddenly. He feels awkward around Remus, which hasn't happened since Remus moved in. "I made you eggs and toast," he says. "And tea."

Remus doesn't move, though his eyes flick up at Severus. "Thanks." His voice is as expressionless as his face.

Severus frowns. "All right, Remus?"

Remus sighs. "I'm fine."

Now Severus is _certain_ something is wrong. He doesn't know what or how to fix it, though, so he settles the breakfast tray on the bedside table and himself on the bed. "Would you rather eat downstairs?"

"No, this is fine." There, it's a tinge of impatience. Severus wonders if he should apologise. Apologising will gain one a lot of ground, sometimes. It usually works on Remus. Either Severus has done something wrong, or he has failed to see what is wrong with Remus. Either way, he's in the wrong.

Finally Remus pushes himself into a sitting position and takes the breakfast tray Severus has prepared for him. Severus eyes him sidelong, trying to look like he's eating and not watching Remus. Remus eats slowly, chewing each bite longer than he needs to. Severus is finished with his breakfast much sooner than Remus is. He cradles his teacup in his hands and stares awkwardly at it, feeling unwanted.

Unwanted...

It occurs to Severus that Remus probably knows he was wanking in the shower this morning. Severus did take pains to be quiet, but he was in the shower longer than he usually is. It doesn't take huge intellect, and Remus is an intelligent man. Then again, if he's really all that intelligent he ought to know he can talk to Severus about it. Severus will never bring it up, but he'll discuss it if Remus needs.

Remus sighs and sets his plate between them on the bed, then shifts himself down in bed, rolling on his side. He's facing away from Severus.

That doesn't make Severus feel any better. He puts both plates on the bedside table and shifts to stare at Remus' back.

"I'm sorry," Severus says after a while. The words fall into the silence like dead things.

Remus doesn't respond.

"I--" Severus pauses. He doesn't know what to say next. Saying he's sorry for anything is difficult enough without elaborating.

Wolfsbane jumps up on the foot of the bed and patters along the blanket. Severus reaches out to pet him and gets a nasty bite for his trouble. Severus swears and sticks his finger in his mouth. Wolfsbane stalks up to Remus and sits on his head. Remus sighs.

Severus frowns and removes the kitten, placing him on the pillow next to him. "Remus, I--" He still doesn't know what to say. He scoots down and shifts closer to Remus. "May I hold--touch you?"

Remus' shoulders tense, but he sighs again. "If you like."

That stops Severus cold. "If _I_ like?" he asks. "Don't you want me to touch you?"

Remus doesn't answer.

"Is there something wrong with wanting to touch my lover?" Severus demands. He _hates_ feeling like this, wondering if he's done the wrong thing, and wondering what the right thing would have been, and knowing he looks like an utter prat.

"You really want to?"

Ah, Severus recognizes that. Finally. He can hear the self-derision and scorn in Remus' voice. That's what this is about, then. "Yes," he murmurs, and shifts against Remus' back to wrap his arms around him. "I love you, idiot. Of course I want to touch you."

"I'm a cripple," Remus says, his voice bitter. "Why would you want to be stuck with me?"

Severus scowls at his back. "Because I chose you, you bloody idiot. Because you make me feel like less of a failure. Because you know who I am." He chews the side of his mouth to keep from tensing; conversations like this give him hives. Or they should, from the amount of discomfort they create. "Who I really am," he adds.

Remus sighs and relaxes slightly against him. Severus tightens his arms in response. This is much better. He kisses the spot behind Remus' ear and hums. "I like being with you, Remus," he murmurs. He wants to make Remus happy, to make Remus whole. He knows he will never say that aloud, but just knowing in his heart what he wants is a relief.

"Someday you'll get tired of living with a cripple." Remus shudders slightly. "You'll say I'm too much work and you'll want your freedom."

"My freedom is in you," Severus whispers. He buries his face against Remus' shoulder.

"You poor sod," Remus says, but Severus can hear the slight smile in his voice.

"Am I allowed to want to fuck you?" Severus asks, his lips skating Remus' earlobe.

Remus shivers. "Merlin, yes, please!" he breathes.

Severus hums and sucks on Remus' skin, sliding a hand up his arm. Then he stops. He has to know. "It's not--reprehensible of me?"

"Why would it be?"

Severus doesn't want to discuss this. "You can't control your legs. I didn't know if--"

"If I can get hard?" Remus' voice is sharp.

"I know you can get hard," Severus assures him, cupping a hand gently against the bulge of Remus' erection. He nips Remus' neck. "No, I didn't know if it would make you feel used."

"Oh, God, _use_ me!" Remus groans, half laughing, but half in frustration.

Severus chuckles and shifts over to straddle Remus. He kisses Remus' cheek and watches him.

"This much can stay the same, at least," Remus murmurs, stroking a hand over Severus' hair. He pulls him in for a hungry kiss. "Don't act as though you'll break me, Severus. It makes me feel like a bloody freak. I want you. I always want you. That doesn't change just because my legs don't work."

Severus leans in and kisses Remus again, but he takes Remus' words to heart. The kiss is demanding, needy. When it finally ends, they are both breathless. Severus shifts to kiss Remus' cheek, his jaw, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his thigh...and then...then... Yes, Remus can still get hard. Severus closes his lips around Remus' cock, thinking to bring Remus pleasure first. He has his lover gasping and moaning soon enough, but then there are fingers tugging at Severus' hair.

"Wait!" Remus gasps. "Wait, Severus!"

Severus lifts his head, and Remus' hand cups his cheek. "I'm not fragile. _Use_ me. Take me."

These words kindle a fire under Severus' skin. He moves forward swiftly, getting his trousers off and stroking his hands lovingly over Remus' scarred skin. He can see the light of desire in Remus' eyes, and he knows it is mirrored in his own. They kiss, long and deep, and Remus is shivering under Severus' hands. It is an amazing power, and Severus loves that it is his, and knows that he will never abuse it.

He makes love to Remus frantically and too fast, but he can't slip a bridle on his want, need, passion. Remus whimpers and groans under him, and when his legs are hitched over Severus' shoulders and they are moving together, Remus is the most beautiful person in the world.

Then they reach their climax, one after the other, and they clutch and gasp at each other, their fingers tense and desperate. "I love you," Severus whispers.

Remus smiles and wraps his arms tightly around Severus, and they breathe together.

* * *

**Prompt:** 90 - Passion


	31. Restoration

Shacklebolt doesn't look at all surprised to see Severus again. "Remus send you again, or are you here on your own?" he asks, his deep voice ironic. Severus glares at him, but he can't think of any suitably venomous reply.

Instead he thrusts the wand at Shacklebolt, letting it clatter onto the desk. Shacklebolt stares down at it. "You made Tonks steal the case file for the Greyback-Mulciber Incident." His expression is calm, not revealing what he thinks about that.

"Borrow," Severus says irritably, and wonders why he cares about making that distinction. "This is the wand in the evidence case."

"It's Mulciber's," Shacklebolt replies. He is telling, not asking.

"It isn't. This wand killed Bill Weasley and Parvati Patil, as well as some annoying Hufflepuff whose name escapes me."

"What?" Now Shacklebolt does sound surprised, shocked, even, which is gratifying.

Severus folds his arms across his chest, liking the way his hair is just long enough to slant into his eyes.

"There were eyewitnesses who said Malfoy killed Patil and Weasley. We never found anyone who saw Smith murdered, but--" The Auror tilts his head to stare up at Severus, who is still standing, in a somewhat dramatic pose, in front of his desk.

After barely a moment's hesitation, Shacklebolt flicks his wand in an Imperturbable Charm that washes over Severus and sticks at the opening of his cubicle. Then he gestures for Severus to sit down.

"You're absolutely certain this isn't Mulciber's wand?"

Severus sits, looking at Shacklebolt as if the man is stupid. "I am."

Shacklebolt swears. "Then this is Malfoy's wand. This wand is the reason they couldn't get Malfoy sentenced to the Kiss. There were enough eyewitnesses for life imprisonment, but the Ministry was pushing for the Kiss, for known murderers."

Severus' gaze turns ironic. "Then you'll have to reserve one for both me and Remus," he drawls. Then he feels a momentary panic that he has said _Remus_ and not _Lupin_.

Shacklebolt studies him for a long, long heart-stopping moment. "You and Remus both had mitigating circumstances."

"What, a murder is less than a murder if it's committed against a Death Eater?" Severus asks, his voice sharp.

"Don't be difficult, Snape!" Shacklebolt says, and there is an edge of frustration to his voice, so Severus backs down. He doesn't actually hate Shacklebolt. "Look, you know as well as I do how the Ministry works. Change comes about slowly. I'm not in favour of the Kiss for anyone, and you ought to know it." He presses long fingers to his forehead, rubbing there, then pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm not interested in what this wand has done," Severus says finally, into the silence. "It isn't Mulciber's, and therefore I don't care whose it is. What I need is the wand that attacked Lupin."

He can see the exact moment when Shacklebolt comes to the same conclusion that Severus has held for some time. The eyebrows up, a light of interest kindling in dark eyes. Shacklebolt raises a hand and smoothes it back over his bald head.

"You want to invent a countercurse."

Severus doesn't speak, he merely shrugs. _Naturally._

A smile breaks across the big Auror's face, and then his laughter booms, rolling out of his chest like the lazy Thames. "Snape, you _are_ an ingenious devil."

Severus smirks at him.

Shacklebolt leans back in his chair, studying Severus' face. "The problem is, if that isn't Mulciber's wand, where is it?"

"I have a lead on that," Severus says, "but...I'm afraid I'm not going to share it with an Auror."

Shacklebolt raises an eyebrow. "If it's anything to do with Dung..."

"Not in the least," Severus replies. "But I'd rather not get arrested." He smirks again, and is pleased when Shacklebolt laughs.

"All right, Snape, keep your secrets. But--what about Malfoy's wand?"

Severus shrugs. "Keep it. If you're in any doubt, make a trip up to Azkaban. Draco is being suitably punished for his deeds, I assure you."

He knows he is Occluding, that there is no possible way his own feelings about the prison could be known--an yet, Shacklebolt's gaze softens.

"I'm sorry about that, Snape," he rumbles, his voice low. "Remus swore at me for turning you over to the Ministry, but..."

Severus shrugs. "I expected no less." And that, of course, is why Shacklebolt is on Severus' List of People Who Owe Him.

They stand, appraising each other for a moment, then Shacklebolt surprises him by holding out a hand. After a pause, Severus grips the Auror's hand tightly. He pulls away quickly, they nod to one another, and Severus leaves.

*******

The wand shop is dark, as are all the shops along Diagon Alley. Severus peers along the street, making certain no one is about. A quick Disillusionment chills him, but is a necessary protection. He darts across the street to skulk into the shadows by the door. Crouching there, he examines the wards quickly, then whispers the words that will slip between the wards, allowing him inside without alerting anyone.

Inside, it is darker still. He pauses just inside the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Finally he feels secure enough to make his way from the door towards the counter, where he knows Ollivander always kept his records. Something inside him is thrilling to this--he has always been good at breaking, entering, eavesdropping, pilfering. He has not realised, until tonight, that some part of him has been bored.

Some larger part of him is terrified.

He has so much more to lose, now, if he is caught. He is not risking only himself, nor even only himself and a few of Dumbledore's and the Order's secrets. He is risking a man he loves with every fibre of his being. He is risking that man's health and well-being. He is risking that man's wrath.

He pushes away the fear and charms open the cabinets where Ollivander's files are kept. A nonverbal spell has a soft, diffuse glow emanating from the end of his own wand. He thinks--too late--that he should have kept the stolen wand and used it to commit this crime.

His fingers fly through the folders, and finally he comes to "Mulciber, M.", "Mulciber, P.", and "Mulciber, Y." He removes the folders, leaving no record of Ollivander's ever having sold to them. There are other wandmakers, of course, but no self-respecting pureblood wizard would ever buy from anyone else. The information he needs to identify Mulciber's wand should be contained here.

He doesn't risk slipping out onto the street again. Instead he Disapparates, going first to Scotland, then back to London, then to Dublin, before heading home to Halifax. He is confident the break-in at the wand shop will go undetected, but even if it is detected, there should be no risk of being traced.

He lets himself into the house at Spinner's End just after one in the morning. He expects Remus to be asleep, because Remus is not a man who keeps late hours. He is unpleasantly surprised.

"Where have you been?" Remus' voice is as tight as his jaw when the light suddenly flares in their bedroom. Severus pauses with his shirt over his head, then decides to finish disrobing as if nothing is wrong. Remus is sitting propped against the headboard, his gaze hard on Severus.

"Hunting," he replies, his voice clipped.

" _Hunting_?" Remus' eyes reflect disbelief and anger...and hurt. It is the last that gives Severus pause. Whatever Reus thinks, it must be worse than simply breaking into a wand shop and stealing some records.

Severus draws the files out of his pocket and goes sheepishly to Remus' side, where he drops the folders on the bed. Remus picks them up, studying them for a moment. When he looks up, his expression is--if anything--darker.

"You _broke into Ollivander's_? My God, Severus, what were you thinking?" His voice is low, but it crackles with anger. Severus shivers.

"I need to find Mulciber's wand. This is the quickest way--"

"Did you ever consider simply _asking_ the boy to give up that information?" Remus demands. "Did you consider asking Kingsley or Arthur to utilize legal channels to get the information for you?" His eyes are burning a hole in Severus. "What would have happened if you had been caught? What would I have done? What would become of me, Severus, if you were thrown back in Azkaban?"

Severus' breath catches in his throat. Why hasn't he thought of these questions himself, before now. He shakes his head. "The information was--"

"I am aware of how badly you need that information, despite your stubborn secrecy! What I cannot understand is why you need it so urgently! What made you think it was worth getting yourself imprisoned again?" Remus' hands twitch, and Severus can tell his lover wishes to pace.

"Do you truly wish to know?" Severus asks, his voice low. He feels warmed by the fact that Remus seems terrified by the prospect of losing Severus.

"Of course I do!"

"You must promise not to mock me or attempt to dissuade me."

"I promise."

Severus tells him. He speaks of his idea that finding Mulciber's wand will tell them what specific curses were used on Remus. He talks about the possibility of developing a countercurse to reverse the damage. He carefully doesn't mention hope, though it needs no mention; it is alive in every word. When he finally finishes talking, he is staring at the carpet, unable to quite meet Remus' eyes.

The silence seems to be a living thing, creeping into Severus' chest and stealing his breath, as he waits for Remus to say _something_. Finally, when his ears are ringing and his mouth dry, he looks up.

Remus is crying.

A rush of shame fills Severus' lungs instead of air and he leans forward, appalled.

"Shh, nevermind," he says, putting his arms awkwardly around Remus and wishing he wouldn't cry. Severus isn't certain what, exactly, has made Remus cry, but he can't stand the sight of the tears trickling down his lover's cheeks, only days after he swore he would never hurt Remus again.

"You--" Remus lets out a shuddering breath and clutches at Severus. "You would risk Azkaban for me?"

The question is like a Bludger to the head. Remus isn't angry with him--it's something else. But Severus is still confused, even if he knows why.

"Of course I would," he says, his voice matter-of-fact. "Don't be daft, Remus, I would risk anything for you."

"I love you," Remus whispers. "I love you, I love you."

Severus holds him, grateful that Remus has forgiven him for his risks. After a long time, Remus relaxes against Severus. He thinks Remus is sleeping, and shifts them both so Remus will be more comfortable. A nonverbal spell darkens the room again, and Severus rests his cheek against Remus' hair.

"Thank you, Severus," Remus whispers, through the safety of the dark. "Thank you for believing. Thank you for never giving up hope. Perhaps, with your belief, I can find my own again."

* * *

**Prompt:** 53 - Hunting


	32. Reverence

"Here," Severus mutters. "Mahogany, thirteen inches, with a dragon heartstring core." He flips the paper to Remus, who ponders it.

"Too bad Ollivander didn't take snaps of the wands. Have you let Kingsley have a shifty at some of those other files? Or perhaps Tonks knows what happened to it."

"I am not bringing _her_ into this matter," Severus says, his voice firm. It isn't wholly true; she stole the evidence box, after all...

"She brought herself into it when she took me into custody." Remus' voice is mild, but Severus can hear the strain.

"You were never formally charged with anything. It was a precaution."

"Don't take up for the Ministry," Remus says sourly. "Bloody wankers."

"What happened that day, Remus? What was it that was different?" Severus' gaze is intense.

"Different?" Remus shakes his head. "It wasn't that. I just couldn't look myself in the mirror anymore. I knew I had to do something to stop him. I knew what he was, and I'd run with him myself."

"And you killed him to...redeem yourself?"

"Not redemption," Remus says. "Just duty. Not even revenge, because there was no honour involved; just death." His voice is bleak. "It ended it. That's all I cared about, was an ending."

Severus doesn't respond, because he has no idea what to say. He killed the Lestrange brothers because he was trying to get information from them. And he is glad he killed them, after what they did to the man he loves.

"It was about revenge for me," Severus admits. "I thought they had killed you."

Remus tilts his head to one side. "Have you loved me all this time?"

"Loved you...no," Severus says slowly. "But I needed you, long before I realised it." He thinks. "We were the last. Black--well, I hated him. I never stopped hating him. But towards the end, after the Order had reformed, I hated him because you paid attention to him. Because you thought about him. I hated him because I got politeness, but he got the real you."

Remus sighs. "I was always afraid to show you the real me. You're so good at ripping people to shreds with your tongue. What if you saw who I was and found me wanting?"

Severus sighs. "I missed out on a lot."

"Yes, look at me now, unable to walk, addicted to narcotic potions, bitter...You really got cheated."

Severus hates the self-loathing he hears in Remus' voice. "There is nothing wrong with your mind," he says tartly. "And that is what I love, even if looking at you is no hardship."

Remus' laugh sounds startled. "You flatterer," he teases.

That makes Severus smile. He leans over and kisses Remus softly. "I get very tired of hearing you talk like this," he says, stroking his fingers through the graying hair. "I love you no matter whether you can walk or not, whether you can cook or not, whether you are able to brew the simplest pain killing potion or not. You are an intelligent, kind man, whom everyone likes. Why can't you see that about yourself?"

Remus shrugs, looking bewildered. "Why should people like me? I am inoffensive, indecisive, and boring."

Sometimes you're an idiot," Severus snaps, glaring at him.

Remus, inexplicably, laughs again. Sometimes Severus is confused by the things that make Remus laugh. All the same he is pleased when he accomplishes it.

"What do we do next?" Remus asks. "If you're going to fix me, you'll need the Prior Incantatem, which means you need the wand. But...where do we start?"

Severus has been thinking about this since his first conversation with Shacklebolt. "The burial lot," he answers without hesitation. "I'll have to see if it's buried with him."

Remus nods. "Makes sense. They were just dumping the bodies in graves by the end. Some in boxes, some not."

Severus snorts. "Yes, because of course it doesn't matter how Death Eaters are buried."

"It's how a few of the Order members were buried, as well. Not many, it's true." Remus sighs. "The end was very, very messy."

Severus shies away from that topic. "I should be back before lunch. I'll have to spend some of the afternoon on the Wolfsbane Potion."

As if hearing his name, the kitten appears, tearing into the bedroom and running around in circles. It takes them both a minute to stop gaping (or laughing, in Remus' case) and realise the cat is actually chasing a tiny owl. Before Severus has time to react, Remus has whipped out his wand. " _Petrificus! Accio!_ " And the owl is safely cupped in his hands.

Wolfsbane crouches, tail lashing, and watches Remus hungrily. Severus can't help it--he bursts into laughter, though whether at the cat or at his lover, he isn't sure.

Remus looks up, a smile on his face, and that is enough to invite a kiss.

When they part, Remus leans happily against Severus and reads his letter. "Ron and Hermione are inviting us to come for tea."

Severus tenses, but nods eventually. "We'll have to accept, of course."

"That reminds me, we ought to be thinking about names," Remus says. "She's due soon, isn't she?"

Severus shrugs. "Probably."

Remus smiles and kisses him again. "Well, go on your errand," he says,. "I have a letter to answer and a book to read, so I'll be fine."

Severus trails his fingertips along the side of Remus' face. "I love you," he murmurs. Remus smiles.

*****

The burial lot is a bleak place. Graves are pushed in chockablock, with tin plaques marking each: name, affiliation, and dates. The affiliation is designated by a skull, a stylized phoenix, and the official Ministry symbol. He is impressed that the Order was acknowledged in so enduring a way.

He is surprised to find Bill Weasley buried here. It is strange, so shortly after having the man in his cellar, even as a memory. Severus pauses, then murmurs a Transfiguration; a moment later his button-turned-red poppy is resting on top of Bill's plaque.

Mulciber is easy to find. The later deaths were buried in the far corner, and Mulciber and Greyback were among the last physical casualties of the war. Severus has forgotten, until now, that Mulciber is--was--two years younger than he. Severus has never considered the man more than a comrade-in-arms, and has for several months actively hated Mulciber's memory, but the reminder gives him pause.

He and Remus are some of the last few survivors of an entire generation of wizards decimated by the war. He recalls the names at his Sorting and can think of less than a dozen whom he is certain have survived.

He sighs. This melancholy, he thinks, is unbecoming; after all, he and Remus _are_ alive. And it accomplishes nothing to further his errand. Sparing a moment to hope there are no monitoring spells on the cemetery, Severus barks out the spell that soon has dirt flying from Mulciber's grave.

The rotting corpse has a wand clasped in the hands folded over its chest. Severus takes the wand, glances carefully over the rest--just robes and a Slytherin ring--and drops the lid again. He reburies Mulciber' hastily and is about to go when he pauses.

When he does leave a moment later, his coat is missing another button. Even Mulciber had a mother who had loved him.

In every row Severus finds cause to stop and Transfigure another poppy. Some are Order, others Death Eaters. Two are even, remarkably enough, Ministry. All are former compatriots of his in some way. With each button lost he hopes to gain a measure of peace; instead his melancholy grows. He is almost relieved to run out of buttons.

 

Remus has brought his magical chair downstairs and is writing when Severus arrives home with his clothes hanging open.

"Hello, love. Did you find it?" He looks up belatedly from his letter and smiles warmly at Severus. It takes the edge off that lonely chill that has crept in.

Clutching his clothes subtly together, Severus holds up the wand. "I got it," he says.

Then he goes downstairs to perform the test.

* * *

**Prompt:** 46 - Flowers


	33. Respect

"I'm so glad you were free this evening," Hermione says, holding the door open wide. She is as big as a Hungarian Horntail, Severus thinks. He imagines she is also feeling as mean as one, though, so he thinks it the better part of valour to say nothing. He glances down at Remus, who doesn't look quite as stunned as Severus feels; oh, of course, Remus had been friends with Lily when she was pregnant.

Hermione is still talking. "Come in, let me take your cloaks. Ron is in the kitchen. He says tea will be ready soon."

Remus smiles and surrenders his cloak, but Severus can see the tiny lines of strain around his eyes. This is difficult for Remus, leaving the house in his wheelchair. All the same, Severus likes the touch of pink the wind has brought to Remus' cheeks. It is a fairly warm day, but the rain is cold enough that they've both worn their cloaks just to stay dry.

Severus rests his hand lightly on Remus' shoulder, and, though Remus doesn't look at him, Severus feels some of the tension drain from his lover's body. He hopes Remus' pain potion will kick in soon; he has held off on the dose until shortly before they left, not wanting to feel it wearing off while they are eating. Of course Severus has a second dose in his waistcoat pocket, but he sees no reason Remus has to know this, if he doesn't end up needing it.

Hermione ushers them into the dining room, where one of the chairs has already been pulled away to make room for Remus. She vanishes into the kitchen and comes back with a line of dishes following her in the air. Ron is behind the dishes, only limping a little. It is still a shock to see the young man's hair mostly white, and the beard makes him look even older. Severus finds he can't quite meet his gaze.

Once Hermione has the dishes settled, she kisses Ron sedately on the cheek and lets him help her to her seat.

"Remus," Ron says, smiling at them. "Severus. It's good to see you."

Severus is unable to speak for a moment, taken aback at how easily Ron has stolen his Christian name. He simply nods and leaves Remus to make conversation, watching quietly as they speak without him. He dishes himself food and eats automatically, but he is thinking of the way the boy had whimpered, his breath rasping, the darkness pressing in around them. Severus had been so tired, so frightened, and he had been unable to catch his breath--

No. He can't do this. With a deep breath, he forces back the memories that want to rush in and the panic that clings to their back. Remus needs him; Severus hasn't the luxury of falling apart. He closes his eyes briefly, and, when he opens them, his lover is watching him in concern.

"All right?" Remus' voice is soft, but there is no way the Weasleys haven't noticed. Severus tries not to care.

"Don't fuss," he mutters in reply. From the corner of his eye, he sees Ron's anxious expression clear. And since when has Ron Weasley given a _damn_ about Severus Snape?

But, of course, he knows. It's part of why he wants to keep his deeds to himself. People have always hated him, and he is comfortable with that. He doesn't want things to change, doesn't want to learn a new way to act around these people, who have been his allies and still hated him. He doesn't want to stop hating them. At the same time, he can't help but feel vindicated.

They finish the meal with sticky toffee pudding, for which Severus has always had a secret passion. He wonders if he has told Remus this, but when he looks up from scraping up the last of the ice cream and toffee sauce, he sees a heart-wrenchingly familiar twinkle in Ron's blue eyes, and he knows Dumbledore's portrait has been telling tales. He licks his spoon and decides he can live with that, if he gets sticky toffee pudding.

Afterwards, they retire with coffee and tea to the front room, which is comfortable and subtly decorated. A stack of journals is next to the recliner, and a Quidditch rag is balanced on the arm of the sofa, but it is an otherwise tidy, welcoming room. Severus thinks Hermione has grown into her womanhood very gracefully, which is more than he had expected of her.

She takes the recliner, explaining it's best for her back, but when Ron would let Remus and Severus take the sofa, Severus gestures for him to take it. He can see the chagrin when Ron realizes it is too difficult for Remus to transfer himself from the floating chair to the sofa, but to Ron's credit, he doesn't apologise and bring attention to his gaffe. He just nods and sits.

Hermione smiles. She is knitting, which Severus finds incongruous, until he remembers the way the house-elves had threatened to strike a few years ago because of the bobble hats being hidden all over Gryffindor Tower. Ah, that explains that.

"I know I've mentioned this to the two of you before," she begins, "but Ron and I wanted to emphasise that we're quite serious."

Ron nods and leans forward, leaning his maimed arm on his knee. "We'd like the two of you to name our son. And we would like to name you as his godparents."

Remus blinks. "And which of us is to be the godmother?" he asks in gentle amusement.

"Oh, nonsense." Hermione waves a hand. "This is the Wizarding world. We can have two godfathers and no godmother if we want."

Severus thinks it is mad.

"Don't argue, Severus," Ron says, and there is a note in his voice that almost takes Severus' breath away. He realises suddenly that his former student is no longer in the least afraid of him.

Severus falls silent. Remus tilts his head and looks from Hermione to Ron and back. "If it's really what you want," he says finally. "But it won't be a popular choice. A crippled werewolf and a former Death Eater--we haven't much to recommend us."

Hermione's eyes flash, and she snorts. "As if I have ever worried about what is popular," she says. "I am interested in doing what is right, what I want to do. And this is Ron's idea, so don't think you can talk him out of it."

Remus nods and folds his hands in his lap. "Very well."

Severus can only nod. Hermione Granger-Weasley has gone mad. He has always expected it--too much drive, too much revision, too little fun. It has driven her round the bend.

"I'm due in less than a month," Hermione says serenely, as if she hasn't just outed herself as a nutter. "So you haven't much more time to think of a name."

"Are you planning to have the full ceremony?" Remus asks. Severus blanches; he can actually _feel_ the blood draining from his face. She will expect them to stand up in front of everyone and declare themselves fit to oversee the child's religious and magical education. In front of everyone.

Remus' hand closes over his and squeezes slowly. Severus is grateful, but at the same time he just wishes to say something dreadful and Disapparate. He doesn't _want_ this!

He realises suddenly that he hasn't heard Hermione's response. He looks at her, noticing the way strands of her frizzy brown hair cling to her neck even though most of it is drawn up in a bun.

"I think that should be enough to make it perfectly clear where Ron and I stand on the subject," Hermione finishes.

Remus is frowning. "I don't want this to be a...a political statement," he says.

"It isn't, mate," Ron says, shaking his head. "We're asking you because we respect and like you both. Well," he amends, grinning, "Liking Severus is trying sometimes. But respect is easy." He winks at Severus, which sends Severus back into silent shock.

"It's just that the ceremony itself is rather fortuitous," Hermione says. "We can prove to Harry that we're beyond the war."

They will never, Severus thinks, be beyond the war. But some of them have changed for better in the war. He looks at Ron and says quietly, "I will do it. We will do it."

 

The conversation flows for a time without Severus, who has fallen into contemplation of Mulciber's wand. He thinks he wants Hermione's help.

"Mrs--Hermione," he says abruptly, cutting off whatever Ron has been saying about the Cannons. "I should like your opinion on something."

She smiles and tilts her head, birdlike. It makes her look fragile somehow, which startles him. "Of course, Severus."

He looks at Remus, who at first is looking puzzled, but, as Severus holds his gaze, gradually understands. Remus nods.

"Have you ever heard of Dolens Senium?"

Hermione frowns. "No," she says after a long while, obviously reluctant to admit there is something about which she doesn't know three facts and at least one application. "Dolens...that is 'pain', isn't it?"

Severus nods. "It's a spell to rapidly and painfully age someone," he says. "I have a wand that has cast it, but the spell appears to be complicated with another. Something to paralyse, I believe."

Comprehension is dawning in Hermione's brown eyes, and suddenly she lets out a small scream. "You've done it!" She pushes herself to her feet and waddles over to seize his hands. Her own small hands have a stronger grip than he had expected. "You found the wand that cursed Remus!"

Ron is looking a little bewildered, but, when she says that, the Lumos obviously goes on. "Good on you!" he cries, grinning.

"I am not sure," Severus hedges hastily. "It is too soon to know for certain. But I would appreciate your input."

"Yes, of course! When? What can I do?"

"I would prefer sooner rather than later," Severus admits. "I dislike seeing Remus at a disadvantage like this."

She nods. "And there's always the chance that the joint ageing will spread into other things."

Severus is relieved she understands so quickly and completely--though of course he has expected no less. "Exactly. For now the curse is limited to the joints from the waist down. I would prefer Remus not have to suffer any further setbacks."

Remus is shifting in his chair, and Severus wonders if it is embarrassment or the pain potion wearing off. They have been here quite some time. As Hermione sends Ron to the bookshelf and directs him to a book that is on the top shelf, Severus leans over.

"All right?" he murmurs. "Are you in pain?"

Remus' expression is wry. "Apparently I dislike asking for help by proxy as much as I dislike asking myself."

Severus smiles faintly at him and takes one cold hand in his own. He doesn't even care what the Weasleys think.

Hermione has the book open now, resting on her belly, and is flipping through pages. "I think I have something on commingled spells," she says, her voice barely a mutter. "Dutton and Sawes, something in 1894, I think...let me see..." She finally clicks her tongue and goes to the index. "It's on the top right of the page...Oh, page 783...No, here it is, on the _left_ , all right..."

Severus is amused, mostly because he has seen Remus do this very thing. Severus' method is very similar as well, but he never speaks it aloud. He waits for her to look up and speak to them. Finally she sighs.

"Well, he cites several authors, most notably Dupre, Canfield, and _Flitwick_." Severus nods slowly. He doesn't want to ask for help from Flitwick, particularly since the last time they saw each other Severus was about to hex him, but he will do it, if necessary. "I think it best," Hermione continues, "if we ask the professor what he can tell us. It will save research steps if we go straight to the source."

Remus shifts again, and Severus glances at him only to see the faint tightening around his mouth and eyes that means the pain is returning.

"Very well," Severus says. "I will contact him." He hesitates, then rises. "It...I had an enjoyable evening," he says. "But it is getting late." It isn't, but he thinks they will go along with him.

Ron nods and stands. "Of course, you'll be wanting to get home to feed that kitten of yours."

Severus snorts, but nods. To his surprise, Ron puts out his good hand to shake, so Severus does. Then Hermione kisses him on the cheek. He has been preparing himself for a hug, the way she did not so long ago, but the kiss startles him beyond words.

He goes to stand behind Remus, both hands on his shoulders, and they Disapparate.

* * *

**Prompt:** 85 - Friendship


End file.
